Inclination
by Darkwood
Summary: Post Degeneration, pre-RE5. Rated for Resident Evil level horror, blood, and action as story progresses. Chapter 2-7 edited. Posted in unabridged form. 11-07-07.
1. 1:1

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: I never really _intend_ to start a new story. Most of the time it just slaps me in the face and I can't help _but_ write it. This is one of those. I watched RE: Degeneration two weeks ago (yes, I'm behind the times again) and I couldn't help but see how _hard_ it seemed they were trying to keep Leon and Claire out of the same scenes. But they redeemed themselves! The elevator scene when Leon sends Claire out to safety… it was short… but coupled with what Leon does at the end of the film… ah. That's the stuff fanfic is made of.

* * *

How long had he been in the hospital? Leon couldn't quite figure that out. He sat quietly through the nurse checking his bandages and offered her a half smile. The young woman smiled warmly back. There was something wrong about the way that she looked. It was the same thing that was wrong with the way Angela looked when she smiled at him.

Oh right, pity.

Leon hated that look in the eyes of anyone when it was fixed on him, more when it was a woman that was giving him that look. Especially a woman he was 'with'. And Angela had that about her face. She was suffering so much that she couldn't seem to imagine him doing anything but suffering more. It wasn't true. He didn't feel like he was suffering at all.

Quite the opposite, he was fighting.

Until she was doing more of the latter and less of the former, they would be incompatible. Sometimes, Leon thought, there were two worlds on the same planet. The people who had been affected by Umbrella's t-virus, and those that hadn't. Those that had were all moving towards the same place. Angela had only recently been thrust into the darker world that he lived and worked in. She wasn't at the same place of self-reliance and determination.

"It doesn't look like it will leave a lasting scar, Mr. Kennedy," the doctor said as he reviewed the charts behind the pitying nurse. "But I would like you to take some time off to get some of your normal body weight back. It can be dangerous, pushing yourself as hard as your department does without the appropriate nutrition to back it up."

Leon nodded. The doctor shook his hand, and he and the nurse retreated from his room.

Of course, Leon had no intention of doing any such thing, but there was no reason to say a lie out loud to the doctor about that. He collected his clothes and went to change in the bathroom of his hospital room. In the mirror he saw the flowers Angela had sent him. Hunnigan was being nosy again, it looked like. He hadn't been the one to call and tell the S.R.T. member that he was in the hospital.

What was the point in worrying people about things like that? Either he was going to pull through, or he was going to die. If he died, it would be better to talk than send flowers. And talking could happen…

He gnashed his teeth slightly. Angela's card…

_Hope to hear from you soon_.

Her words were always cuttingly passive aggressive when it came to how much they _didn't_ talk on the phone. Her idea of 'see you around' was 'call me next week'. It wasn't like _she_ called _him_ either. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Leon thought to himself as he pulled on his t-shirt, his schedule didn't allow for 'next week' very often.

Leon felt guilty for thinking that. It was unfair to Angela. She was just being normal. She just wanted to talk. Or maybe she just wanted him to tell her how to keep on, now that she knew about the darker parts of the world. It wasn't his job to tell people how to keep on. Support groups were for that, though the idea of a zombie survivors anonymous group almost made him nauseous. He could picture that.

_'Mr. Kennedy, you're new to the group, why don't you start us off? What was your z-experience like?'_

Normally, Leon didn't consider himself to be a violent person, or even an angry one, but the idea of sitting around a circle with Dixie cups full of tang or coffee in uncomfortable folding chairs made him want to shoot something. It didn't even have to be gray and groaning.

Definitely not his style. Far too passive. But like other women he'd known, well… other normal women he'd known, it would probably help Angela be less of a checker. She did it a lot, and he tried not to mention it. But then so had Michelle, and Anya. Lucette before them, and what was the girl's name in 2000? He couldn't remember, and didn't really care. The relationships never seemed to last long enough for them to leave a lasting impression on him. In passing, he did his best to remember their names, but when it was three weeks of happiness while he was in town to talk to and then three weeks of awkwardness before she decided to end it, there wasn't much good waiting on the end of it.

Angela had lasted longer than most of them, but even with her… with all the checking… he just… couldn't keep it up. She had checked him to death, and passive aggressively offended him beyond reason. He was annoyed, now. He knew that was because he didn't see her to miss her… and so when he though of that, when he acknowledged that he wasn't annoyed but only lonely… and that she was liable to break it off the next time they met… he couldn't seem to care about it anymore.

It hurt, of course, not to care like that. Hurt as much as the scar that was healing on his cheek, but… he left it behind. There was always something to do, something to stop, someone to save. And in all that work, he lost what hurt he felt from the people that broke from him.

Tightening the belt a notch more than he was accustomed to, he secured his pants, and then went about finding his shoes. It was a good thing they were releasing him to his own command, he was starting to get stir crazy in the hospital room. Once he was wearing his shoes, he headed out to sign the release papers. He felt naked without his holster on, without the weight of his H&K Sigma. Familiar. Friendly. Safe.

Maybe that was his paranoia, Leon thought, pulling on his leather jacket. It still had blood stains. It _always_ had blood stains. Maybe it was being armed, maybe that prevented the other types of dependence on people, and all the checking they did.

Or, of course, maybe he just got his fix of checking on one person who didn't attack him for it.

Leon took the elevator to the lobby and collected the rest of his things after signing himself out. He tucked the gun away as he headed out of the lobby, the shaded glass doors opening automatically in front of him. His wallet he tucked into his pants, and he stared at his phone.

Might as well get my fix, he thought to himself.

He touched a few places on the screen and lifted it to his ear. "Claire?"

"Oh, Leon, been a while." There was no accusation in the phrase, no annoyance. One individual to another, it was a comment. "Come up with any normal circumstances for us to bump into each other in yet?"

"Not just," he replied. "How are things on your end?"

"About normal. 9 to 5ing it on my path to saving the world."

"Don't sell yourself short. Did you get the file that I sent you about…" Leon couldn't even remember what it was about, honestly. He'd been infected and cured since then, and…

"It was very helpful, thank you Leon." Claire was probably smiling as she said that. She had a habit of smiling. He liked that about Claire. "Oh shoot, I've got to run. I'll call you later today, ok?"

"Sure," Leon said. He would have to answer to Hunnigan, explain why he wasn't taking vacation. "Talk to you later."


	2. 1:2

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Onward.

* * *

Pressing the power button on her phone, Claire glanced over at where Robert was snoozing in the chair next to their luggage. It wasn't that she was hiding Leon from him… just that she figured no ordinary man needed to try and compete with a secret service agent turned special ops black box. Robert had a hard enough time dealing with things, she didn't necessarily want to dump that in his lap as well.

Crossing back to where he was dozing, she sat beside him and let her hand rest on his knee. He roused slightly and tipped his head towards her before sleepily opening his eyes a bit. "Nothing deadline-related, right?" he asked hopefully.

"Just an old friend," Claire said, touching his brow with her fingers. Robert had thick, dark hair that curled. "He lives in Washington… when he's home."

"I see," Robert replied.

He didn't sound like he was really listening. It was boring, having someone who couldn't keep up. They'd pulled an all-nighter to get the paperwork completed for their business meeting in the morning, and while she was anxious and a little tired, Robert seemed to be completely worn out. She frowned slightly and tipped his head onto her shoulder. "Just get some more rest."

"When we get to D.C. I need caffeine. Buckets and buckets of caffeine."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Talking to Leon had been a bad idea, Claire reflected. Robert settled against her, letting his head nuzzle into her neck. Robert's weight was light, his shoulders somewhat slender in the padding of his suit. He had booked their tickets, and demanded first class seats. It didn't suit the organization, really, to pay that much on the airfare for such a low-priority meeting, but he'd insisted.

It was something along the lines of 'taking care' of her needs. Claire hadn't brought up the fact that she could care less about the position of the seat in the plane, but she had quietly made sure to book them separate rooms. Robert didn't know about that just yet, but he'd know when they arrived.

She just… couldn't think when he was in her sleeping space. It was strange. Normally there was no problem, but recently, and this had to coincide with his idea of meeting her needs, she'd begun to feel strangled mentally the more time she spent in an enclosed space with Robert. It was just about time to get done with him, she thought sadly. At least he'd lasted longer than the rest. Robert had picked her out of a staff meeting months ago, before they'd been partnered together to work on the current project.

Thankfully this was the last of the reporting and meetings on it, so it would, at least, be a clean break. She had been planning some time off… or at least some time away from him, for the past month.

He woke up enough to shuffle onto the plane behind her, and fell back asleep promptly as they took off. It wasn't until they touched down that he roused himself enough to move himself on his own. She was glad not to have to shoulder his weight any further. At the hotel, he glanced at her in confusion when she collected a second key, and frowned at her.

Claire took the high road, for once, and ignored it, dragging her bags to the elevator. He followed, and the two of them stood in silence. "So… separate rooms."

"Don't worry, they're small," Claire replied. She leaned forward and pressed the button for their floor.

"Isn't that a little wasteful, given the circumstances?" Robert asked, turning to look at her.

"Not if I can't keep my temper in our meeting."

Robert's brows lifted and he leaned over to put his arm around her waist. "I'm sure I can give you reason to calm down."

"Robert, I care about you a lot, I'm really very fond of you. But sometimes you come on too strong."

He had been about to kiss her, either her cheek or her neck she couldn't be sure, but… he stopped, blinking again and straightening up. His face tensed, and the elevator opened. Claire pulled her suitcase into the hall, and put her hand into her pocket. She gripped her phone, and the keycard to her room. The outside world, and a private sanctuary. It was important to her, now.

Robert still made her heart beat rapidly, but when he was lethargic like this… she couldn't quite bear to tell him that when he was like that… even his morning breath was so similar to…

It was very hard to tell your boyfriend that he reminded you of a zombie. It was … difficult to keep up a relationship with someone who didn't know to begin with. Every now and then she would have a nightmare, more frequent since Harvardville. She would wake struggling or screaming, and he would try to hold her, try to comfort her. But screams didn't wake Robert the way they should. Robert was always so lethargic…

He was like a damned **zombie**.

Claire jammed the key card into the door and all but kicked it open as she pushed the handle down. Why hadn't that struck her before? What was different about the Robert now than the Robert she had found so charming when they had started to see one another? Where was the Robert she couldn't wait to get into bed?

She shivered as she closed the door. His footsteps even reminded her of that time… of the lobby. Even his groans in the shower.

Pressing her back into the door, she hung her head and kicked her suitcase to the side. It hit the wall and she leaned her head back against the door. She tucked the keycard into her pocket. Her fingers found her phone. She picked the phone out of her pocket and turned it on.

No new messages. She walked to the bed in her room and flopped down on it. The phone fell from her fingers onto the bed. She closed her eyes a moment before opening them. She lifted the phone to set her alarm for the morning. Relaxed on that score, she snapped her phone shut.

_Sorry Leon_, she thought to herself as she shifted to unhook her bra, getting comfortable enough to sleep in her clothes, _I'll have to call you later. I'm hiding from zombies at the moment._


	3. 1:3

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: As a sidenote, I've worked up a timeline about this story based on research done about the series (games + _degeneration _movie). It is currently, as of this segment, sometime in March of 2006.

* * *

There was someone in the hallway of his apartment as he returned home. Leon weighed the options, hesitating a moment towards his gun before he made out the figure as having the curves of a woman. Not that he wouldn't need the gun because of that, but it did make him wonder who it was. Certainly not Ingrid. Hunnigan had shaken her head at him when he showed up to work that morning, but aside from her usual chiding about his health not lasting forever, especially at his age… she'd flapped a hand at him to get to work at his desk. Plus, she'd made it repeatedly clear that she wanted nothing more from Leon than that he complete his job and not get killed so he could do it all over again when necessary.

The day at the office had been more tiring than he had expected. The office lighting must be terrible, or else he really was more tired than he was letting himself believe. His eyes were feeling gritty, and his whole body ached. His systems were still a little lethargic after the antibiotics. His mouth got dry faster than he liked, and he could feel he was slower than he was used to, even in his joints. The effects of the cure, he knew. He'd felt it before. The debilitating feeling of infection, the groggy sensation of his body after the cure. It was still vexing. Somehow, he bounced back.

He wanted to be able to sink into the security of someone's arms, to let the weariness drain from him the way it was draining his strength, but there wasn't anyone to come home to. He figured he could've called Angela, he reasoned she was likely the woman's figure in his hallway, but there was just something wrong with it. She didn't understand. She talked too much about the wrong things….

She was so _heavy_ all the time. Leon stopped halfway to his door and focused his eyes. Yes, she was heavy.

And she was standing in front of his door.

Usually this sort of an introduction meant a bad ending as the conversation turned, which was unfortunate. It was this portion of the situation that was worse than the physical drain. He could handle bouncing back to health, it was the pity… It was the inability to rest with the care of someone overlooking him that made the weariness drag on and on…

"So they finally let you out of there, huh?"

"Angela, long time."

"Six months, on the inside, if I recall."

I'm sure you do, he thought to himself, and then felt like a jerk. He unlocked the front door and held it open. "Invite you in?" he offered.

"You could," she said, stepping closer and adjusting the collar of his jacket. She was close, and when she was that close, he could remember the good things about her. When she wasn't checking, when she just quietly needed his support… when she just enjoyed his company without being so over-involved. He had to wonder, as she leaned up slightly to kiss his cheek, if she had enough to do in her own life. She did, after all, live several hundred miles away in Pennsylvania.

He tipped his head and brushed their lips together.

Angela leaned back, turning her eyes away.

Leon knew that look. He'd seen it before. It usually came after he got the annoyed call about where he was, which was usually a hospital. It was usually just before…

"We need to talk."

"Then I guess you'd better come up." She started to touch his jacket, something about the tone of his voice must have alerted her… but it was his turn to lean back, to politely usher her past him.

They headed up to his apartment silently, and she waited as he opened the door. She went in, turning on the lights in a familiar manner. He resented that. "Still pretty empty in here."

"I'm still not home a lot," Leon replied.

"You're home now."

"I'm also tired now," Leon said. He put his keys down and shrugged out of his jacket. "Would you like something to drink?" He looked up at her from where he headed into the kitchen, and saw a look on her face that was vaguely accusing. "I'm not an alcoholic, Angela."

"You're not," she said in a voice that was half question. "Are you sure?"

Leon casually opened the refrigerator and showed her its contents. There was some spoiled milk, some canned soda, and a few questionable looking pieces of fruit and bologna. "You can check the place if you want."

"That's not what I want, Leon," Angela said.

"It's also not what you came to talk about, I'd bet. What's up?"

"Is this…" she sighed, pausing. "Leon, are we… does this do anything for you?"

"I'm too quiet," he said, summarizing her thoughts. He'd heard them before. It was sad, it was annoying. Almost like a play he'd read in high school, or an episode of television he'd seen before.

"That's not what I said, and you didn't answer."

"Who is he?" Leon asked softly, turning to the fridge. This was when it would hurt him. To hear her talk about whomever else it was. For a moment, he thought Angela might disappoint him. She paused.

It drew out.

"Nicholas," she said with a sigh.

Leon hated being right. Or at least being right about that. It didn't do him any good, and it only ever made him numb himself further. What he would have liked when Angela showed up on the doorstep was to put his arms around her and sag into her touch, let the weariness he felt sink into his bones and take him. But she had to speak, to break the spell that her presence might be a balm on his wounded self. So instead, here they were.

"How long?" Leon asked.

Angela wasn't tearing up. That, at least, was new and different. She took a breath, turned to cross past him to get a glass of water. "Six months, since the last time you called. It was… just dinner at first…"

"Stop," Leon said softly.

"But then when you didn't answer… he did. And dinner was a movie and a movie was…"

"Angela, stop."

"He's there, and you're not. Not when I need you. Not without your phone. Not when it's normal. Leon, is _anything_ normal in your life?"

He slammed the refrigerator door shut harder than he meant to. One of the cans popped out of the door and onto one of the empty shelves, maybe it hit an old piece of fruit. He could hear it through the door of the closed machine. "It's normal enough," he said, taking a deep breath.

"That means no," Angela said. "If you… if you don't want something normal, Leon, you shouldn't do this to people… to women. If you don't want…"

"I said _stop_, Angela." Leon's voice, he knew, was low. He was fairly certain it was menacing. This part of him Angela had always found attractive, before. She was never scared of his intensity. She joked about it, didn't take him seriously. She was more real to herself than he was. Perhaps, he thought, she didn't know more than what she wanted to know about him. She'd taken what she wanted and… what she needed so…. There wasn't anything left but what was physical and that was apparently being handled by Nicholas, now.

This time, she shrank back from his voice. It felt good to be angry for once. "I know I'm hard to talk to, and that I'm hard to get hold of. And that I answer my phone a lot. I work for a specialized branch of the government. I have to do that. All of it. I have a mission, and I'm sorry you're not more important than that."

For a second, she looked like she was going to cry. Tears were common. He was used to tears. He understood them, in a strange way. Not really understood them, but he knew what they meant. What they could mean – sadness, frustration, anger… but she went straight to anger and passed right over tears. Her fist balled and flew, landing square in his stitches.

Leon let her hit him, let her feel angry. He could taste blood. It didn't taste like blood, but he knew that's what it was. It was leaking from the inside of his mouth and coating his tongue. Had his teeth cut his cheek? Or was that from his stitches?

"Oh god, Leon!" Angela grabbed a towel, one hand bloody, and moved towards him.

He lifted a hand. "That's enough help, thanks. If you don't mind, could you go?"

"Leon…"

"Please, Angela."

The towel dropped from her fingers. She turned, heading from the kitchen, but paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at him. Leon turned his eyes towards her.

"Let's break up," Angela said. She turned her face back to the front and headed out of the apartment. He bent to pick up the towel, covering his face as the metallic taste made the tendons in his body shiver angrily. His tongue felt thick. He swallowed a little and felt the bile rise in his throat.

Leon didn't know if it was from the breakup or the punch. He locked the door behind Angela and leaned his head on it. He looked down and watched the red fall on the floor at his feet. It pooled.

More blood.

Better get that patched up, he thought to himself.


	4. 1:4

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: I'd like to say thank you to everyone who reviews. I won't be turning off anonymous reviewing.

* * *

Day three in Washington. After their meetings, the zombie went to dinner with her and then, probably angry with her about the separate rooms, he returned to his. Without similar compulsion, Claire decided to spend her evenings out. There were some galleries that were open until late, and if not that, she could always take her files to a little coffee shop around the corner from the hotel. There wasn't really time for traditional sight seeing.

It would've been nice to see Mount Vernon or something while she was in the area. She'd never been.

Staring at the clock on her phone, Claire had a thought. It was probably a hopeless thought, considering how busy Leon could get… he'd called her, what, three days prior? He was probably back on assignment. But she had said she'd call him back…

Claire pressed the talk button after selecting Leon's phone number. Closing her eyes, she bit her bottom lip gently. This wasn't like her… reaching out to Leon when she was upset by something normal. He was the one to call her, to make contact, normally… But she wanted… she wanted to hear someone friendly and familiar. She wanted someone who would listen and understand. She didn't half dare tell anyone else what she was feeling but…

A call cut across the one outgoing to Leon. Claire blinked and hit the switch button, "Hello?"

"Hey Claire, your itinerary open enough this week for a meal with your brother?"

"Chris," Claire breathed. "I'm in Washington. I really can't."

"What a coincidence," Chris's replied. "I'm in Washington too."

"Chris…"

"Or are you on location with the douche bag?"

Her brother insisted on calling Robert names. They'd met, once, Chris said. She had a better idea about that. TerraSave, the company she was finishing out her employment contract with, was a non-profit organization. Without the sort of secrets that her brother's line of work normally entailed, the computers wouldn't be heavily guarded. Chris was more than smart enough to either look through the employee records or find someone who could look into them for him. It was strange, she hadn't recalled Chris to be so involved with killing her love life before. Maybe there was something specific about Robert that Chris didn't like. He'd never snooped to having a Human Resources server cracked to satisfy his curiosity before.

"I am _with_ Robert, but it's not like the two of us are married or attached at the hip or anything, Chris."

"Then let me take my little sister out to dinner tomorrow. Did you bring anything nice to wear?"

"Chris," Claire rolled her eyes. "Last time you asked me to dress nicely I was wearing heels in a post restaurant, and people thought I was your wife."

"I cleaned their clocks on that one," Chris reminded her.

"You could have told your squad about me."

"Give me a break, Claire, that was almost ten years ago. Air force guys are almost all like that. Hot shots until they get married, and it's not like we spent a lot of time talking about our families before that."

Claire considered. "I really have a lot to do on this project, Chris. I can't just give up on it now. We're in meetings with the Standards Committee all week on it."

"Because you've had a problem with juggling life and work up until now? Come on, you know you did all the hard work before you got on your plane, or douche bag would be complaining more."

"It doesn't help that you call him that," Claire said, narrowing her eyes. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It wouldn't hurt to see Chris… it might even help. "Tomorrow, six thirty, pick me up at the President Avenue parking lot by Grant. I'll be dressed appropriately, don't worry."

"Alright, sis, you got it. And… wear some makeup, huh?"

"That's asking a lot, Chris."

"You like it, don't argue."

"See you tomorrow, Chris," Claire said, hanging up the phone.

She shifted her files, looking out onto the night street in Washington D.C. She should get back to the hotel, take a shower, and go to bed. The morning would be a challenge. The senator they were meeting with was not a proponent of divulging information or increasing safety standards, even when it came to the safety of food production and shipping. It wasn't something to joke with, but there had to be some reason he wasn't supporting the sanctions being proposed.

Claire sighed. Maybe Chris was right about dressing nicely, and wearing some makeup. It might grease things along if the smart, passionate woman that was leading the meeting looked like someone from his level of society. She only hoped that it wasn't going to cause a fight with Robert. She could almost hear his protests in the morning…

She shook her head. It was something to worry about _in_ the morning rather than now. She gathered her files and headed back to the hotel. The night passed without incident. In the morning, however, what she hadn't bothered imagining came straight out of Robert's mouth.

"So you can dress up for senators and reform committees?"

"I dress up more often than that. You don't give me nearly enough feminine credit, Robert."

And with that, she'd gone out to the taxi and taken a seat in it, folding her brief case on her lap. Robert followed, and their meetings passed more smoothly than expected. She was correct there too. Claire headed out past where the taxis were stationed to pick up travelers, over to meet her brother, and Robert followed.

"Claire, where are you going? The taxis are over there."

"I'm not having dinner with you tonight, Robert. I've got-"

"So you're seeing someone in Washington?"

Claire paused, crossing to stand on the walkway around the monument. She looked up at it, trying to maintain composure. Turning, she tipped her head slightly before taking a deep breath. "Robert, I'm not cheating on you."

"Claire!" a voice in the background called. Claire almost sighed. She knew it was Chris, but it didn't make it any better that Robert had never met her brother.

"Right," Robert said.

Chris came jogging over towards them. Robert started to turn on his heel, heading back for the taxis, when Claire cleared her throat. "Robert Martin, _that_ is my brother, Chris Redfield."

Robert paused, and Chris made his way through the trees towards them. The evening sky was bright with the sunset. "Your… brother?"

"I guess we don't talk about our families, do we?" Claire asked. She turned to look at the Reflecting Pool that was beyond the monument, and took a step away from Robert.

"Claire…"

True to his word, Chris was dressed nicely. A suit, for once. More than she expected from him, honestly. Her body felt heavy. She sighed. Chris tensed at that, and turned to look at Robert for a moment. She could tell, because Robert made a startled noise. "Nice to…"

"Save it," Chris said in a low voice. He stepped over and put an arm around Claire. It was comforting. Warm. "Come on, I'm taking you to dinner."


	5. 1:5

**RE: Inclination**

_A/N: Time warp! (For me, anyway.) I'm recovering from a mild dose of the plague._

* * *

Seated, again, on an examination table in one of the outpatient wings of Washington Hospital Center, Leon tilted his head to the side as instructed by the doctor. The pitying nurse who was, yet again, hovering. He tried to keep his eyes unfocused, but the blue and gold logo on her scrubs kept drawing his attention. Leon was thankful for the sterile smell of the examination room. His nostrils still flared at the metallic scent of blood, even if it was his own. The crimson liquid never failed to alert him. He could not be sure what it alerted him to, but it always caused a small rush of anticipatory adrenaline. His eyes strayed again to the logo on the nurse's scrubs. The color was a good contrast to his thoughts of red. The mint gray of her uniform was not what he wanted to see, but it would do in contrast to the other color ever present in the forefront of his mind. He wished, quietly, that the nurse was Claire. He'd been wounded twice in her presence, both times by gunshot, and she wasn't anywhere near as annoying as this woman. She was quiet and helpful, and without the lines of pity marring her face. The same doctor as before was checking his formerly stitched his cheek.

"I said _time off_, Mr. Kennedy, not fist fights," the doctor chided.

"Ex-girlfriend," Leon said.

Thankfully there had been some rather affective pain medication injected into his cheek before the exam. The hovering nurse had done something helpful, for once. It took the dull throb out of his face that hadn't succumbed to the six ibuprofen he'd taken while he was still in denial about being able to handle the torn stitches on his own.

"Date better women," the doctor shook his head. "That was a cheap shot. Tore out two of your stitches."

"Didn't quite catch that," Leon said. He pressed his lips together slightly. Even that simple motion made the skin on his face shift enough that he could feel something abnormal in the tension on the surface of his skin. It was very strange knowing that there was something wrong but not quite being able to feel it.

"Your supervisor is here, by the way."

"Super…?" The doctor motioned to the doorway. Leon turned his eyes, as his face was otherwise occupied. Hunnigan stood with a frown on her face. "That's not…"

"I take it Officer Miller wasn't impressed with this excuse?" Hunnigan's eyes were inspecting his face through her glasses from across the room. Her brown hair was pulled back in the usual immaculate bun tight against the back of her head. Her expression was somewhere between chiding and amused. The doctor took out some instruments from a drawer and tipped Leon's face to the side, beginning to cut at the stitches that were still in his skin.

"Hunnigan, sh-"

"Mr. Kennedy, stop talking please."

"I'm recommending you for light duty until you agree to take some real time off," Hunnigan said. "Don't argue."

Leon watched her, taking in the detail of her face to keep from thinking about the sounds being made by the doctor where he was cutting through the stitches in his face. It was much more pleasant than letting his mind wander, even if what Hunnigan was saying was high handed and a bit annoying. When his mind drifted from that moment it focused on less pleasant things. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, and all the things he knew were most accustomed to lurking in the cover of it came out. All the things he'd seen could shuffle into the room, and he had no pain to dull the feeling of the memories. In normal moments when the darkness threatened his mind ignored the memories and the realness by considering it all fiction. But not when he was numbed by medication like the moment he was enduring in the exam room. His brain worked differently. There would be nothing to stop the thoughts that threatened. He could try to think of his escape, the thing he did most often when confronted by his memories, or he could try to daydream about the parts of his memories that were best, but it got hard. The pain medication… what had they given him? Amitryptyline? Diazepam? Ketamine? He hated not knowing. His body reacted slightly different to each of them, and his response mentally would change as well.

"You may not care about your health, and don't think I do, but if you're dead you're not much good at your job." She shook her head slightly. Analyzing Hunnigan was still better than the alternative. Her berating sounded as it always did, though, and the black threatened on the edges of his vision. "Honestly, Agent Kennedy, take better care of yourself. You're not a rookie anymore."

He frowned, ready to retort and keep his thoughts in the moment, but the doctor gripped his chin more tightly.

Hunnigan was apparently finished with her admonishing. She tipped her head to the doctor and turned to retreat from the examination room where he was being patched up. She paused in the doorway. "Try to pick someone better for company next time, Leon."

Leon snorted. Who did she think he was, James Bond? It wasn't like he had a gaggle of women in various countries waiting for him to call. There were a few that he had dated, and they'd all ended badly. He hadn't even slept with all of them. That wasn't a relationship that was worth anything, as being with Angela had proven yet again. The sex just wasn't enough.

Cleaning up the stitches took almost half an hour. At least seething over Angela had kept his mind in the daylight. He was glad to be numbed for the procedure, but he didn't envy himself the pain when it came back. Fingering his cheek through the bandage, Leon thought he could still smell the blood from earlier, but was certain it was only the antiseptic that had been smeared on his face.

Despite being admonished for it, he went back to work. True to her word, Hunnigan had suggested to DeKay, their boss, that he be kept off field assignments. Normally that would cause a fuss. Leon, who several of the agents had deemed the office 'pretty boy', was rarely allowed recovery time without some insipid commentary and strong censure from his coworkers. It was childish and stupid, given what accidents were likely if any agent was not fully recovered and sent into the field, but human beings were notoriously self-centered and jealous. It didn't matter what the line of work, office rivalry was likely. This time, however, was different. No one in the office argued when they saw the size of the bandage he sported when he arrived the following morning, or the mangled look of the stitches on his face when he took it off.


	6. 1:6

**RE: Inclination

* * *

  
**

Dinner with Chris had done two things. One, it had reminded her what other examples of manliness there were to compare things to. Two, it had estranged her from Robert with a distance even further than there had been before. Well, she thought, she'd have to worry about that some other time. She had better things to worry about. The committee meetings were wrapping up, and she would have to be focused enough to make a proper report to Director Stuart about the way that the meetings had gone, and what the six-month action plan on the follow-up would be. She started to list things off in her head, but then decided it would be a better idea to take out paper and actually write it down. She was so agitated she might forget what she was trying to remember so hard.

The cab they were seated in was eerie silent. Robert was sulking.

The noise of her pen on the small pad she'd taken out of her planner was audible. The cab had a quiet engine, but it was a bit ridiculous. This was never a good way for him to begin the day. It just made him less tractable in the meetings. "Robert," she started.

"Yes, Claire?" he asked. His words were very formal.

She took an inward breath, poising herself for his agitation. Nothing she did seemed to make it better, but then after the way he'd acted around Chris, so long as he didn't do anything to compromise the meetings, she couldn't care if he went mute. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"Your brother's a dick," Robert said, looking out the window. The childishness was apparently set for the day. "_If_ he's your brother."

"Oh, _Chris_ is my brother." Claire stared at him. "And of course he's a dick. He's military, and he doesn't like you."

"Why?" Robert snapped, turning back to her. "What did I do to him?"

Claire tipped her head to the side a little. What was with this? Claire didn't feel like she was being her usual self. Robert was making her someone else… someone unfamiliar…. "I'm his little sister. His _baby_ sister, if the situations were reversed, would you act any different?"

Robert's dark eyes narrowed and he frowned, turning back to the window. "Plus…" he trailed off into a mumble.

"I dressed up, I know." He looked at her again. It was so accusing. Granted, she _had_ wanted to call Leon that night, but she hadn't. There was nothing to accuse her for. "Robert you can either be with me, or you can be angry. But I'm not going to bother with you if you're going to just be angry at me all the time."

He blinked at that. Oh, right. Long-suffering, mothering Claire was never the one to be finished first. _**Ha**_**.** That was a joke. Maybe it was just that she'd spent too long dating TerraSave activist types. No one at the organization (or at least no one that didn't live in her building, and there were a few who did) knew that she liked to wear leather jackets and ride motorcycles. _Especially_ to cool down.

Robert had never even been to her apartment. It was always more _convenient_ to stay at his place in New York.

It made her a little sick to think about the person she was letting herself pretend to be. She frowned at herself. No, she reminded herself, it wasn't necessary to change like that. Having a cause didn't mean becoming someone else. None of her previous causes had done that. If anything the work she did with the Anti-Umbrella Movement had been just the opposite. She had been the _most_ herself while working with the team. Afterwards… hell, _during_ the Anti-Umbrella thing, it was just too easy to lead a double life about that sort of thing. She'd done it well. She'd _had_ to when she was finishing off college and Umbrella at the same time. It hadn't helped her grades in some classes that she spent two springs infiltrating things and being shot at, but she'd managed. She'd graduated, hadn't she? Claire was less disgusted with herself when she realized that. It was a cause she was working for. It was a choice _she_ had made.

The meeting that day went amiably well.

Robert was pensive rather than abrasive, and the points they were discussing were really just wrap-up formalities. Setting up future meetings, assigning dates for the future reporting that would have to be done. Claire was glad that her part in this situation would end with the set-up. She didn't want to be the person that was responsible for reviewing the reams of paper that would undoubtedly come from the reporting. Although she supposed that they could get computers to analyze the data.

If it was entered properly.

The pair of them headed out of the building together, and the mood seemed… well she couldn't call it relaxed, but it definitely wasn't on red-level alert as it had been previously. Robert's elbow was half a foot from hers, and it actually felt nice. He was moving like a normal human being again. He always did, in sight of others and at their meetings.

He let out a groaning sigh, and there it was again. The breeze across the parking lot swirled his cologne at her, and that made her stomach tighten in on itself. Why did it have to smell like that? Claire pressed her lips together and looked in her purse for her chapstick. It was better, as they were waiting on the next available taxi, than looking at him as he let go of his business mode and turned into the zombie.

"Claire, maybe we need some time…"

_Not alone_, she chanted in her head. Please, don't suggest some ill-fated camping trip in which you spend the whole time complaining about the bugs or some other retarded getaway.

"What you said this morning… it was hurtful. And I need a little time to think."

"Alright," Claire said. A taxi pulled up for them. Robert moved towards it. "Let's start with this. You take this one, I'll get the next."

He was halfway in the cab, but he stopped, turning to look at her incredulously. "Claire, it's getting dark out. You take this one."

"I've had worse, Rob," she said. "Or didn't you read my file?"

He looked to the side.

"You did." She narrowed her eyes a little. Was _that_ where the change in Robert's demeanor had come from? "You read my personnel file, didn't you?"

Robert was silent for a moment, and the pause annoyed the cab driver into speaking up. "You getting in?"

"In a second," Robert said in annoyance. He turned his dark eyes on Claire. "Look it's not like you're very forthcoming about things. How else am I supposed to get to know you?"

"By asking," Claire said with a frown.

"Right," Rob replied, shaking his head. "Your brother may be a burly military type, but honestly you're harder to talk to."

"Were you more scared of talking to me _before_ you read it, or after?" Claire asked. She didn't wait for his answer. She turned and walked off. She felt betrayed by him. Maybe she _was_ impossible. Or maybe Robert was just wrong for her.

Claire didn't have a problem talking to Chris, or Leon. Granted she'd known both of them for longer than she'd ever heard of Robert Martin. How far was the hotel from there? She wondered as she took a few steps in the direction of the Peace Monument. She looked up at it for a moment before stepping into the crosswalk that lead in the direction of the Grant Monument.

There were a lot of fucking monuments in Washington, she thought to herself as she headed over towards the reflecting pool. The area was tainted with her memories of the last time she'd been there, though. She couldn't find anything worth thinking about in the bluish green of the water. Continuing, she headed out past it. There was a street that she hadn't ever crossed, and she crossed it.

Surprisingly enough, she found herself at the Botanical Gardens. They were closing for the evening, but there was a taxi stand waiting for her there.

Claire dug her wallet out of her purse and her phone fell to the ground. She collected it before crossing to a taxi that the driver opened the door for her to. Normally she avoided things like that, but the man looked nice enough, and she figured sometimes karma had to pay her back for all the shit it put her through. This guy would be nice, and she'd make it back to the hotel.

"Where to, Miss?" the man asked.

"Washington Plaza," she replied, settling in the seat. She dusted off her phone, looking at it. There was a message from Chris, which she ignored. The missed calls menu came up, showing her outgoing calls as well.

She'd tried to call Leon yesterday.

Hurtful, right. She was hurtful. Cryptic, impossible to understand. She'd heard it before. She could hear Chris's chiding tease now. 'That's what you get for dating normal boys.' Her brother said things like that a lot, but she didn't understand what he supposedly knew that was different from what she knew.

Leon wouldn't say things like that… and it would be good to hear his voice.


	7. 1:7

**RE: Inclination**

**A/N: **_We're nearing the end of the first part of the story. Two more chapters after this one. Don't worry though, I'm calling things "parts" when there's a time jump. Also, even though I haven't stated it before as a heading, we're in March of 2006. To avoid confusion going forward, I'll be putting month headings in the chapters._

* * *

**March 2006**

What concerned Leon more than the annoying routine of cleaning his wound and finishing what seemed like months of backlogged paperwork was that his stamina didn't seem to be returning. Late afternoon as he leaned in the elevator on his return from lunch break (one which had been delayed by a conference call with the White House that DeKay required him to join in on), he wondered if Angela had something to do with it. After the conference call, he hadn't felt much like eating anything, which he knew was bad for him, since he was trying to recover, but it was better than nothing.

He knew when he'd needed to take time to recharge. He knew he did it better with a comforting, supportive presence. It was a very obvious moment, and in that moment, he'd been struck not only with emotional rejection but with a physical blow. How long had he been at this? How long had he been dancing around commitment? Was he dancing around it, or was he hiding from it behind his 'purpose'?

This was why Leon hated being in the office. It was too easy to forget the shadows when he was walking in the light. Somehow the delicate balance he normally had to maintain during periods of numbness was shattered under the fluorescent lighting that illuminated the commercial carpet lined office. Even though he had been working in the same situations for years, it was easy for his brain to write off the incidents as fiction. His brain wanted to believe that what he had experienced, what he had seen or heard in some cases very first hand, was all a bad dream. And when it was just him, in his solitary bubble on the far side of the office, or in his empty, faceless apartment, it was easy to do just that.

Maybe he was getting too old. Maybe thirties were the end of fighting bio-terror for everyone. He didn't really think so. He knew it wasn't strictly a rule, as others were carrying on in active roles in the fight well past his age. Rather than declining, he should be reaching the pinnacle of his prowess at it. So either he wasn't very good at this job, or maybe he was having a mid-life crisis.

Claire would probably laugh at him for thinking that. It would help to have her laugh at him, though.

His phone rang, and as he slid into his desk chair, he glanced at it as he lifted it to talk. "Kennedy." The clock on his desk told him it was reaching five o'clock. Some lunch break.

"Hello, stranger."

Claire. Why the hell did his life keep bringing him right back to Claire all the time? To eight years ago? What was it about Raccoon City that he had to relive over and over again? Or was it his fault for continuing with this line of work? He'd been at it again, at her side during it, when? Six years ago in Burma, and then four years ago in South Africa. Really in a way he'd never _left_ her side. They were both working towards the same things. She was there when he needed her, she was there for support. Even in Harvardville… when she was one of the civilian victims, she was at his side the minute he moved after an objective. There was no talking about it, there was just trust. Claire knew that anything Leon was doing was good enough for her to put her support behind it.

"Claire… uh… Hi," Leon said. It was, he knew, probably the least composed greeting he'd ever exchanged with her. They had fought zombies together, but the worst of his lines to her was that. It was sad.

"Sounds like you're going through a rough spot. I… realized it's been all on you for a while to make contact, and I thought it was my turn," she said. "How are you?"

Her words caused a curious sensation in him. He felt suddenly heavy, like his mass had increased and there was more gravity acting upon his body, but not weighed down necessarily. No, it wasn't that he suddenly felt heavy, it was that he realized how heavy he felt. It was not a feeling of gravity he was experiencing… and as she spoke, as she asked after him, it was like a pressure that had been on his chest was released and he was able to breathe for a moment. Leon pushed his chair back from his desk and rose, even though he'd only just returned to the office. He needed to be away from prying ears for this conversation.

Founder, one of the other agents, tipped his head and started to talk at him, but Leon waved a hand at the other man. "Injured," Leon said as he crossed the hall to the balcony.

"Nothing too… serious I hope?" Claire's voice was suspicious, a little. Worried. She didn't ask how he'd been hurt or by whom. Her concern was soothing.

"Stitches, knife wound," Leon said. He pushed the door open and headed out onto the balcony across the hall from his departmental office. The spring air greeted him. It smelled better. "Nothing too serious. Aggravated the wound the other week…"

"Someone beatin' up on you?" Claire sounded fond. "I suppose it's nothing new, but tell them I said they better watch it."

He felt a light laugh coming from his chest. "I'll do that. Though I might get hit harder." She chuckled as well, and then there was a pause. The pause stretched between them for a moment, and Leon realized that in his changed energy, he had forgotten. "And you?" he asked, knowing how awkward it sounded when he said it that way. "What's up?"

"Nothing too terrible," Claire said. He could hear the lie in the waver of her voice. She wasn't doing well. "No outbreak anyway."

"I see," Leon said. "What are you working on?"

"Finishing up a… uh… series of meetings regarding health standards for…" Claire sighed. It was a weary noise that he had heard from her occasionally, but when it occurred it faded as their conversation continued. Leon liked to think that he was somewhat responsible for easing off her weariness the same way she took the weight out of his sometimes sagging shoulders. "Food packaging and distribution. Then Sunday I fly to San Francisco for an outreach with some survivors."

"Where are you now?"

"Washington," Claire said, sounding a bit withdrawn. "I had dinner with Chris the other day, and…"

"So have dinner with me tonight." He didn't know what possessed him, he wasn't sure where the idea came from, but… she sounded so… and he knew that he felt better talking with her. He knew she felt better talking with him, so there was no reason they shouldn't both feel better.

"That might not be such a good…"

"Normal circumstances, Claire," Leon said. "Dinner in the city is definitely on the right set of criteria."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," Claire said. "But I'm really a bit worn out, Leon, I don't think I'll be very good company."

"That's presuming that I'm every any better," Leon offered. "Tell me where your hotel is, I'll pick you up."

It didn't take much more convincing than that. Leon was glad of it, glad he didn't have to think of reasons to see her. He was also glad to know she was as easily talked into it as it had been for him to think of it. They hung up and he clocked out early. Hunnigan had been dropping unsubtle hints that he should be taking some time off, or at least doing a light duty schedule. A very small thought in the back of Leon's mind figured she would be ecstatic, but the rest of his mind was more agreeably occupied.

Knowing Claire's taste in vehicles, Leon swung by his apartment building and switched out to his truck. He didn't bother changing, his eagerness wouldn't allow him to do something like that. A nagging thought reminded him he should be driving more cautiously, and that the Jeep was not a sports car, but it was like a whisper at a party playing loud music. He was going to see Claire.

Turning the Comanche onto the appropriate street, Leon was surprised to find himself a little nervous. Maybe he should have taken the BMW, perhaps it would have made a better impression. He had put on a bandage over his grizzly looking facial healing. It had been seven months since he'd last seen Claire in person. It wouldn't do for her to vomit the minute they met again. He'd been busy, she'd been hopping city to city with work… and they never really _saw_ each other half as much as they spoke to one another, not after the fall of Umbrella. The valet came to take his keys, but he held up a hand.

"I'm just picking someone up," he said, climbing out of the car regardless. It felt… strangely like a date.

Claire had made him promise nothing fancy. There was nothing regarding a date in the rest of their actions, but people always paired them together in that manner when they went out together. And for once, Leon sort of felt like that about the evening. He knew that wasn't why Claire had called him. He knew it was long-accustomed comfort that she sought, her old friend that she could tell everything to, that she could do anything with.

Amusingly, his mind brought up the last time he'd nursed her back to confidence, after the football player. What had his name been? Something silly and like an inanimate object? Candle? Wick? Yes, Wick. That was the muscle head's name. That hadn't been a date either, but he'd still gotten to throw the jerk into a dumpster head first. So of course this would be to Claire what it was before. It was friends meeting up after a while, it was helping and venting and… it surprised him to think that he _wasn't_ thinking that about the evening. It felt like a date to him, but he repressed the feeling. Timing would be important, if it wasn't a date… or if he wanted it to be…

_Enough_. Leon shook his head, clearing those thoughts from his mind. This wasn't the time for them. Instead, he headed into the lobby with his hands in his jacket pockets, and looked around for her.

One thing he could say was that even in a crowded room, he could pick Claire Redfield out of the moving bodies. His rational mind thought up reasons for this. They both had a similar stillness that he associated only with survivors of incidents… she was a redhead… she inevitably had several people discreetly admiring her. But he knew it was also because she was familiar in a way that was brought on by the fact that their encounters were so often filled with moments that required heightened awareness. It bled into his normal perception of her. Leon knew that he was highly aware of Claire in any situation. He knew that on occasion he had wished for her in sticky situations. He knew she would move as he did, would check as he checked. Claire must have trained with Chris, Leon thought to himself. That must be why she was so dependable. She would, entering the lobby, do the same checks that he did.

The lobby was well laid out, Leon had to admit. His mind wandered to the defensibility of a location, mapping escape routes. He knew where he'd go if… it didn't matter. He saw Claire, who was leaning against one of the structural pillars with her eyes closed. She hadn't lied on the phone, she looked worn out. A hooded sweatshirt was covering whatever top she wore, a dark one it looked like where it peeked out between the two sides of the zipper at her chest. A pair of jeans with a worn in looking pair of boots on her feet, and Claire was hugging her arms around her chest. She must be frustrated, he thought. Her hair was pulled back, as usual, but her bangs fell around her face making a soft frame for her pale skin.

He cleared his throat as he approached, making some noise to alert her to his presence, and she glanced at him with a bit of a grateful smile. "Leon," she said.

"Am I late, I thought…"

"No, I just felt like coming down a bit early." Claire brightened with a smile. "Am I dressed ok?"

"I'm not the right person to ask about dress code," Leon said, holding out a hand to her. "You know that."

"Ah yes, which of the Inaugurations was it that you had to send photos from your room while you were dressing? Do you still have those boxers, by the way? They were adorable." Claire took his hand.

"Ha, ha, ha," Leon said dryly, turning to head for the exit where his car was waiting.

Claire held his hand, tugging him to a stop. He turned to look at her, and saw her looking gratefully at him. He started to turn back to give her a hug, but she shook her head slightly. "Not here," she said, glancing over her shoulder warily.

Shrugging, Leon accepted her caution and led the way out to the car. His mind ran away with itself given the opportunity. When was it he'd last held Claire in his arms? 2003? At her graduation? Surely it wasn't that long ago… He opened the door for her before rounding the car and climbing in himself. He couldn't supply himself with another time when he'd hugged her since then.

"Thank god you're at least still acting normal," Claire said. "Chris was driving some new sports car when he came to get me, and he ordered me to put on makeup."

Leon turned the engine over and glanced at Claire. "Well I sold the Healy Mark II when I moved to Washington from Minnesota. But I won't lie. My other car's a BMW," he said. Claire chuckled. "But I bet you would look good in makeup."

She chuckled again, but her heart wasn't in it. He pulled away from the entrance and slid his truck into traffic. There was silence between them, and then they both tried to talk at the same moment. Claire coughed, and Leon gestured for her to go first.

"Sorry about the hotel, my partner on this set of meetings is a little… difficult."

"The stalker type?" Leon asked. "Or the boyfriend type?"

"The latter." Claire eyed him, he could feel her gaze on his face. "You sound pretty annoyed at that."

"Do I? I hadn't meant to," Leon said honestly. He couldn't recall his exact tone at that. "But I don't like the thought of you being in a relationship with a stalker. Just… not a good thought for me, I guess."

"Me either, but then you with facial injuries is probably the same for me," Claire said. She looked out the window. "…can I say something and have you not judge me about it?"

He was tempted to ask when he had started judging her, but he knew that was his own annoyance talking. "I can only do my best," he said to her.

"He reminds of a zombie."

Leon pressed his lips together at that. Not the most promising comparison. Claire fell silent after that, and the silence stretched out between them until she reached forward and turned on the radio. There was classic rock blaring on it, the last time he'd driven this truck had been on a camping trip he'd taken with Founder and Garvey. It was a team building exercise that hadn't turned out so well until he'd produced the beer cooler from the back of the cab. Afterwards they'd cranked the music and sung like idiots. None of them had even gotten really drunk, but the beer had done enough to lighten the mood that they were comfortable. Claire twisted the volume knob to turn the volume down.

"You're listening to 92.3 fm, rocking you out from Foxhall. We're in the middle of another half-hour music sweep." Leon considered where he had been planning to head to dinner and changed his mind. A quick turn of the wheel moved the old truck out of the straight lane as he headed back towards his apartment. His abrupt turn alerted her, and he could again feel her eyes on him.

"I know I said dinner, how about we cook instead?"

"Cook?" Claire asked, a little incredulity slipping into her tone. "Leon, I'm in no mood to-"

"And by cook I mean put something frozen into the oven. You can even pick it out. So long as it doesn't have anchovies on it, we're fine."

"What… brings this on?" Claire asked. Her voice sounded a bit skeptical. She sounded like that from time to time when he professed hale mind and body, or when he said he was alone on a couples' holiday. Although maybe it was sadness, or resignation he heard in her voice. The tone was so infrequent that he couldn't be sure.

"I don't think either of us will feel comfortable talking in a restaurant, do you?"

"No," Claire said, as though realizing it herself. "I suppose I wouldn't," she admitted. "But are you sure… I mean your place isn't notoriously clean."

"Actually, my place is notoriously Spartan. You'll be lucky if you find a chair or a couch to sit on, or so the rumors go."

That earned him a laugh from Claire. "In that case, pull in to that organic grocery store, would you? Let's get the good stuff. I'll spring for the wine if you're buying the dish. Unless of course you're on pain medication at the moment?"

"I know better than to be intoxicated when meeting you," Leon replied. "I'm off it for the evening."


	8. 1:8

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: One more chapter in this part of the story.

* * *

**March 2006  
**Arlington, VA

They were waiting for the frozen entrée to cook in the oven when Claire finally took a moment for Leon. Everything about him from the day registered with her. How tired he sounded when he answered, how relieved he sounded when he recognized it was her … and the bandage on his cheek. He had just closed the oven and was setting the timer when she leaned against his back. Her eyes slid closed and she felt warm. She felt, for a moment, safe and untroubled. Relaxing, she noticed only absently when he turned and put his arms around her. "You smell like… what is that?" she asked softly as she rested her head on his collar bone.

"Let me keep some secrets," Leon said. He stroked her back, pulling her a little closer, and rested his temple against her hair. It was comfortable. How long had it been since this feeling had washed over her? After Umbrella, surely, but… her graduation. March 29, 2003. Leon had hugged her like this when he congratulated her. He'd had someone take a picture of them. It was silly, but she had enjoyed it. Leon's arms were warm and soothing.

Why wasn't anyone else this comfortable to hold her? Claire sighed and leaned into him. "Ok, so you smell like you," she said softly.

"Let's sit down and have some of that cheap wine, huh?" Leon asked, though he made no move to disengage from the embrace.

"Mm," Claire said.

They stood there in the kitchen for a while, in silence, holding on to one another. It wasn't something they had done previously, but it seemed amazingly normal to Claire, as though there was no reason they _hadn't_ done this in three years. In the background, her phone rang. Claire made a face, and moved to retrieve it, but Leon held her still.

"What-?"

"Don't answer it," he suggested.

Claire looked up at Leon in curious surprise. She started to ask a question, and then the warmth of the oven and the entire day came back to her. They had come to Leon's apartment so they could talk. There was no reason to answer the phone. She had a day of rest tomorrow. Saturday was free because their flight left so early on Sunday morning. It wouldn't be anyone she couldn't call back. Unless Chris was deploying somewhere, which was possible… but her brother owed her a night's peace after the elephant he'd given her with Robert.

This was… probably considered cheating on him. Claire thought about that. She couldn't really bring herself to find a problem with it. Leon's arms were warm, and he had promised her food. More than enough to win her over from the stony silence and the annoyed glaring from her so-called boyfriend. Actually, Claire was rather happy to be right where she was just then.

Bother the damn phone.

"You got it," Claire said, leaning back in to rest her face against his neck.

Leon shifted, putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her against his side before guiding her into the living room. When he'd said his apartment was rather bare, she hadn't quite doubted him so much as she just hadn't thought about it. He hadn't been lying. She could see why a girlfriend type would be upset by it, but…

She had to admit it mirrored her own place, if a bit more expensive. The Arlington Metro location was ideal given his job across the river in the capital, and the apartment itself fit what she expected of Leon's taste – it was clean and modernly functional – but there was a little too much of the new. She wondered how much time Leon spent in his apartment. The floors looked freshly sealed, no scuff marks. The cabinets in the kitchen looked like he'd never opened them, a notion reinforced by how long it had taken him to find the baking sheet that the entrée was cooking on. There were a few more photographs hanging or on the various surfaces that had come pre-installed in the unit than in her place. There was little in the way of added furniture, of course, though there was a little bit more in the way of color than in Claire's apartment, but not many more _things_ than what was in Leon's apartment.

He had been lying about not having a couch though. It was there that he steered her with a single, strong hand on her shoulder, and Claire sank onto it. In a moment, Leon joined her, reaching to the coffee table for the bottle of wine she had, true to her word, purchased at the store. There were two glasses that he'd taken the short detour to collect, but they were normal half sized drinking glasses. He poured them each some wine and handed one to her. She took a slow sip and watched him.

Leon sniffed the glass before tasting a little.

"Oh come on, it can't be _too _terrible."

"This from the woman working on health food standards," Leon said, glancing at her. There was something rye about his comment, and she smiled at it. "So, in an effort to keep from disappointing my guest, dinner is being prepared. And the alcohol has been opened…"

"Usually I don't let guys cook me dinner until-" Claire caught herself and pressed her lips together.

"I'm not much of a cook-for-others type… normally. Anyway," Leon said, choosing to ignore what she did not wish to tell him. He was good about that. "So you'll have to settle for this until you do let me cook you dinner."

"Prior planning, Leon?" Claire was glad he let her go with that one. They'd known each other, what, eight years now? It wasn't as though he didn't know she'd dated before. It wasn't like there ways any reason for her to be embarrassed to admit to him she'd dated other men. That she was used to certain things when she was dating them.

But something about the entire situation felt so much like a date… that it made her feel a little nervous.

Her phone rang again, and she turned her head towards it. "I should turn it off," Claire said.

"Well that wouldn't be entirely fair, as mine is only on vibrate."

Claire looked at Leon, surprised. "You're not answering yours either?"

"You thought this was a one-way requirement?" Leon asked. His lips tilted in a little smile and he shook his head, sipping more wine from his glass and reclining against the back of the couch a bit. "With you at least, I try to always be fair." He knocked back the end of his first glass of wine.

"You're unfair with other people?" Claire felt a little confused. That little smile had made her heart hiccup. What _was_ going on tonight?

"It's been accused," Leon replied. He sighed, leaning forward to pour himself some more wine. He leaned back again after that, tipping his head on the back of the sofa and just cradling the glass in his hand.

Leon was silent a while. Claire thought to ask, but couldn't quite bring herself to mention another woman. She knew who it was this time, and that annoyed her. She knew, and she hated the thought of it. Not necessarily because it was Angela, though the woman's actions were a little misguided at times, and she tended to lose her head in… certain situations… But rather because it was _another woman_, and just then there was nothing between them. No phones, no miles, no people. She needed contact with someone familiar like this. It really wasn't cheating, though a part of her wished for it to be almost desperately.

"So tell me," Leon said softly.

"Tell you… what?" Claire asked.

"About what you started to say in the truck," Leon said. He didn't look at her for a moment, as though giving her the option to look away before he turned his eyes towards her.

Oh, right, she thought. That was why they were here, alone. The feeling in the air had been so relaxing that she had forgotten that part. Claire almost took the opportunity he left open, but forced herself not to. She met Leon's eyes, and let the question in them strike her. She needed to know what he thought about the entire thing, good or bad, and he was rarely as vocal as he was expressive.

There was no accusation in his eyes as he looked at her, only quiet and willing. The willing was strange, she never thought about people looking willing. But he did.

The words tumbled from her lips about Robert, and she couldn't quite stop them. Once, only, Leon lifted a hand for her to wait, to pause, and he rose to take the frozen entrée from the oven. He returned, sitting quietly at her side, and poured her some more wine before gesturing wordlessly for her to continue.

It was good that he was so quiet. She might not have been able to get it all out if he had spoken. If he had interjected or if he'd changed his expression. All he did was refill her wine glass when it was empty, and listen. At first she started to skip how they met, but Leon's patience was… seductive. She told him that, and she told him every moment between it and that evening at Washington. Even the parts that felt awkward, and the ones she was embarrassed to be telling him on what felt so much like a date to her. He listened to it, and if she thought his eyes narrowed slightly or that his jaw tensed, it was nothing she was thinking about as she poured out everything about Robert to the best person she knew.

She didn't notice that she drank over half the bottle of wine with his refills, or that he somehow brought out plates of the entrée that she ate but didn't taste. She did notice that as she was finishing he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her over against him. She noticed that his hand, warm and strong, undid her ponytail and stroked fingers through her hair. She noticed that she liked it.

"It might just be time for me to think about getting you back to the hotel," Leon said softly. His actions and his words were two different things. He didn't stir from where he reclined with her wrapped in his arm and held against him.

"No it's not," Claire said.

"Your partner will be upset at you if you stay," Leon said. His voice was soft. He was stroking her arm gently through her shirt, several fingers curled in her hair still.

"He's already upset," Claire said, sighing. "But you're right anyway. This was nice, Leon," she said. It was not a shock to her that it was true, it felt… comfortable. It even felt comfortable to admit it to him. "We should do it again."

There was an expression on his face that was, for a moment, unreadable. Leon swirled the end of the wine in his glass. It must be warm, after how long he'd been holding it in the hand that wasn't holding her. His eyes focused on the glass. Claire's heart hiccuped insistently, wondering if she'd been too open that evening, too honest about things one normally kept quiet on a date. She waited, a breathless moment, before he lifted his eyes to hers.

Through the fall of her bangs, a tumble that seemed gentle because of the way he brushed aside the hair from her temple with the hand holding his glass, she saw his face. For a moment she was distracted by the cool of the glass as it ghosted across her brow before it moved and she could see his eyes.

Leon's expression was calm. It soothed her restless heartbeat. She knew where the lines in his face for annoyance would show. She had seen them before. He was smiling slightly, and looking fondly down at her in a way she had never seen him do before. Her heart hiccuped again and she fought a blush. He could probably _feel_ that, holding her close against his side as he was.

His lips descended on her brow, and he stayed there a long moment, inhaling the scent of her hair in a way that seemed almost too intimate for the casual evening they'd shared. Had it been casual? No, she thought, not quite. "Let's be sure to," he said, squeezing the arm around her shoulders for a moment. Then he straightened some, and his arm slid away from her as he rose to find his shoes.

Claire found she didn't like the loss of that feeling. As he followed her into the hallway outside his door, keys in hand to lock up behind them, she took his hand.

The whole drive back to the hotel they were quiet.

Leon's hand never left her grip.


	9. 1:9

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Final chapter in this part of the story. Normally I don't reply to reviews, as it just stretches out the Author's Notes, but I felt the need to comment on the one by Malu. I seriously didn't remember that the doctor told Leon to gain weight. Also, Leon's been to China and back since Degeneration. Poor man, he's got a reason to be a little gaunt of face. I also imagine Leon's a take-out gourmet. I'm considering our "autumn" time for the events of Degeneration to be around August.

Also. Terms. SOP = Standard Operating Procedure.

* * *

**March 2006**

Leon dropped her off at the hotel. In the evening, the white of the Washington Plaza looked gray and yellow because of the exterior lighting. Vermont Avenue NW was quiet, it was so late. Most of Washington seemed to stay awake all night, for some reason, even the residential streets. It was a strange quality of the city that even when it was empty it seemed alive. That was one reason he lived out of the city. Granted it was only five minutes or so when he was pushing it, but it was worth staying somewhere that didn't seem to have its own sinister watchfulness. Oddly, as he pulled into the drop off area, the street seemed quiet. The can lights above the area seemed like candles rather than halogens, and the area seemed asleep. Even the door guard didn't jog over to meet them. Probably the truck, Leon reflected.

He felt the lightness she had brought with her depart as she withdrew her hand from his grip and climbed out of the cab of the truck to head into the hotel, but he kept a small smile on his lips for when he knew she would turn to look at him. She reached the door, and the lazy doorman opened it for her. She rewarded his smile with a glance back, pausing to stare at him across the distance between them for a long moment. She smiled back, almost shyly, and lifted the fingers of her left hand in his direction.

Leon lifted his right hand in response, fingers itching for hers as he returned the light wave. He watched as she turned and headed into the lobby. For a moment he thought of reaching for the key, handing it to the doorman, and catching up with her. He wrestled with himself over that. No, he wouldn't. She was leaving in the morning, in…

The orange digital on his dashboard told him it was just after three.

Twenty-two hours.

She'd be gone in twenty-two hours.

He turned the car from the hotel and returned to traffic, to clean up his apartment… and stopped himself. The warm feeling of her seemed to have sunk into his clothes, and he could feel his fingers tingling where she had kept hers wrapped around his.

Was it the woman or the wine?

It was the woman, he knew. But the wine was keeping her warmth with him. Rather than going home to clean his empty, immaculate apartment… He went to a bar instead.

Afterwards he did something that he hadn't done in years. Leon slept the whole of Saturday. He felt better, he ignored the hours ticking away that would remind him she was leaving. But something was just a little off, the rest wasn't restful. Sunday was a blur. He spent most of it out on the patio, staring at the building and wondering why it felt so empty to him suddenly.

By Monday he was so agitated that he could barely sit still. Leon reasoned he should've taken the Comanche to work, because he was less likely to speed or cut off the wrong vehicle, but he couldn't manage that. It would remind him of her. The drive to the office would've terrified a passenger in the car with him. The ten minute drive he normally took – 10th street to US-50E to Constitution – was extended, even though he was driving faster than normal. He took Wilson to the 66 and zipped around the outskirts of the city before he crossed the river to DC.

He didn't bother looking at the speedometer as he did this, he knew better. He'd feel bad for breaking the speed limit without just cause. He slid the car into his parking space at the garage and took a longer walk than necessary to get to the office. He paused to get coffee, and tried his hardest not to notice the red hair of the barista that poured him the black cup. What he did notice wasn't her too bright smile, the same smile she had been offering since he'd showed up with the bandage, but that she was definitely _not_ Claire.

Claire didn't fake tan.

There was a lot he couldn't manage to make himself see. The security check in the lobby was a blur, as was the elevator where some woman seemed determined to make him spill his coffee on her. Fortunately he made it into the office without giving anyone third degree burns. Leon did manage to notice the pained look on Mackenzie Garver's face as he crossed the office headed over to his desk. The man looked more burdened than he normally did by the day-to-day routine of things, which was quite a statement. It was usually beyond Mack to feel burdened by much, other than his bar tab. Leon could feel his own agitation still in the face of what must be legitimate frustration. All Leon could say for himself was that he'd let Claire go back to the hotel.

No.

He'd _taken _Claire back to the hotel.

He shouldn't have done something so stupid. He could only be angry at himself. Mack hadn't done anything to deserve his disregard. Mustering all his patience, Leon crossed the office to talk to his colleague.

"So," Leon prompted, leaning against the side of Garver's desk.

"I put in the g'damn leave request last _year_, they aren't _allowed_ to schedule this sort of an emergency on my only vacation for the decade!" Garver dropped into a language that Leon could only assume he'd picked up on location at some point. It sounded like a fluid, guttural put-down, but was otherwise indecipherable.

"Actually, it's office leave policy, didn't you read the manual?"

Leon's sour retort earned him a heated glare. Mack stared at him a moment before bursting into manly sounding laughter. Leon allowed himself a roll of his eyes.

"Din't you read the one on not getting bitch-napped in the slash wounds, Ken?"

That stupid nickname. From Garver, of all people, it was degrading. Mack Garver had a better track record with more women than most of the operatives could boast having opened a door for. He was tall, had dark hair, and when he wasn't cursing like a shipyard worker, he had a charming accent that was occasionally confusing. It melted the type of woman that liked to enjoy a little mystery to keep them from turning… otherwise sour. If the man had bedpost that he kept score on, it probably looked like he had some crazy termites in his place.

And yet for some reason, double-oh-Garver liked to joke that Leon was the office Ken doll. 'It's all in the name,' Mack said when prompted by an angry shove from Leon that resulted in the two of them fist fighting at a bar somewhere outside of New Orleans. In the lull after the punching, as they both nursed bloodied lips and bruised faces, Mack tipped his plastic beer cup in respectful salute and explained his reasons behind the nickname. 'It's not my fault you have such an unfortunate name.'

Leon didn't care what the reason for it was, he still hated the fucking nickname.

As brazenly annoying as Garver could be, though, Leon liked his co-worker just a bit farther than he could throw him. "I told you not to mess with the SRT chic," Mack gloated.

Rethink that, Leon told himself. Maybe he could throw Mack farther than he liked him. "I'll keep that in mind, Mack. You're also the one who _encouraged_ me to treat her like a hit and run. If she acted like this when I was a bad boyfriend, what do you think she'd do to being treated like a one-night-wonder?"

Mack grinned at that, but seemed to remember his sour mood shortly after. He slammed the meat of his palm against the desk hard enough to make it shift out of its carpet grooves. Leon almost stumbled at that, but managed to recover his balance without too much embarrassing fumbling. "Where's Founder when I need him?" Garver demanded.

"On assignment in San Francisco," Leon said, glaring at the dark haired agent. That didn't help either, knowing Alfred was in San Francisco, where Claire had probably been for the last twelve and a half hours.

"Fair enough, but what the hell are _you _doing in the office?"

"SOP Quarantine," Leon said, feeling his own annoyance spike at being reminded just _how_ useless he was at the moment on top of having done such a stupid thing as to return Claire to her hotel like that on Friday.

"Bullshit," Mack said, pushing his chair back and rising.

"Yeah, well. Mine was extended two more weeks," Leon said, "or until the ER doc tells me otherwise."

"Pansy," Mack taunted him.

"Are you three or thirty?" Leon shot back.

"Switch with me," Garver said.

Leon glanced at the man. Garver looked genuinely sincere in his offer… Or was it a request? Either way it didn't matter, the man was serious. Normally Garver was the just about last person to shrug out of deployed duty, somewhere just behind Leon himself. What could be that important?

Brown eyes met Leon's hazel ones, and Leon frowned slightly.

"It's my mom," Garver said, looking to the side in annoyance. Sometimes it was easy to forget that even the bold, extroverted man-whore was human too, and humans had families. Even if most of the time they didn't bother with them. What was it Garver had said? He'd planned this leave for a _year_? "Just…"

"Fine," Leon said, cutting off the dark haired agent. It wouldn't matter in the end. Leon was angry enough that he would either do something stupid and end up on continued SOP down-time, or he'd get sent out before it was officially over. There were only so many push-ups he could do, only so many miles he could run, weights he could lift, period. He wasn't weight training, he was maintaining. Being bulky wouldn't be much of an asset to his job. It would probably be a hindrance. He wasn't BSAA, with a unit emblem and backup. Leon envied Chris that sometimes, but he knew that it would just make him paranoid, having that many people to look out for.

"I don't think I could stand to be in the office right now anyway," Leon added, making a head motion towards their boss's office.

Garver seemed incredulous, but he shook his head at his own surprise and lead the way. Once in DeKay's office, Leon let Garver do the talking. It wasn't that he couldn't be persuasive, it was just that he never felt the urge to try bullying Joseph into doing something. Leon's whole body was tense, despite the weekend off. He didn't hear the words that were being said in his presence. His time hadn't been restful, it had been idle. He felt idle then, standing in the office with the two men. He hated it.

Leon's mind tried to supply him with more pleasant thoughts. Claire's smile came to him, and the warm brush of her breath against his neck.

He ground his teeth together slightly. The sour voice in his head reminded him, _again_ that Founder was in San Francisco, finishing his post-op quarantine. Claire was there. Founder wouldn't notice her, probably, but there was always this small fear that someone would. Not that Founder was liable to do anything. His wife was far too precious to him. Not that it really helped. Leon felt like there was a hole in his chest.

_Why_ had he taken Claire back to her hotel?

"I'll consider it, Garver," DeKay said. "Now get out of my office."

The tall, dark haired man looked at their boss, and nodded grudgingly. Leon was a little embarrassed that he didn't even hear the conversation the two of them had. He started to leave, but a word from DeKay called him up short.

Leon turned to his boss, and was surprised at the calm, contemplative look on the man's face.

"So why did _you_ agree to it? Is this more of the Kennedy impatience to return to the field, or are you a supporter of Garver's misguided affairs?"

It was possibly the most personal thing Leon had heard DeKay say about one of the agents, himself included. He pursed his lips on the retort that he felt brewing. The black hole that was eating away at his chest was a dangerous place to let words come pouring out of. He reigned in his impulse to snap and said, "I'm going to go stir crazy otherwise, and Garver's a friend of mine."

DeKay's intelligent eyes scanned Leon. "He's supposed to leave tomorrow."

"SOP says my quarantine should've ended two weeks ago."

"You're also more recognizable with the facial scar."

Leon pressed his lips together, but couldn't keep from opening his mouth, no matter how hard he tried. "We're all recognizable. We're a bunch of white guys that get sent to the far corners of the planet, it doesn't keep us from doing our job."

"Probably not," DeKay said. There was silence for a long moment. DeKay turned back to his computer. "Collect Garver's briefing on the assignment. It's another of the Townland situations. You can leave on Thursday."

Nodding sharply, Leon turned and headed out of the office. It wasn't until he was halfway to Mack's desk that he realized he'd been given the go ahead. He paused and looked over his shoulder. The windows into DeKay's office had the shades open, and the man inside was sitting with his back to the door, looking out the windows onto the city beyond.

Somehow, Leon also felt manipulated.

"So?" Mack prompted, meeting him halfway.

"Never pull that on me again," Leon said, turning with narrowed eyes at his friend. "Now come on, you get to brief me."

* * *

End Part One.


	10. 2:1

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Begin the second part. This is two months after the first section.

* * *

**May 2006**

The overcast sky seemed to be taunting her. Claire had managed to push aside her memories of the airport in Washington while she was otherwise occupied, but now… Now that she was back in Newark and returning to the part of her life that could be considered 'personal'… now she couldn't think of anything else. It was a trait that she'd picked up years ago… oh, how many years ago? Raccoon City, probably. She didn't stop caring about things, not really, instead it was more like she prioritized and once she completed one thing the feelings she needed to sort came back.

It started to drizzle as she climbed out of the car. Robert's words from the airport came back to her, and hit her like a two by four to the chest. Maybe Chris was right. Claire slammed the cab door, hating Chris for various reasons, loving him for the same ones. Over their dinner, the very one that had pushed things to a head with her _ex-boyfriend_, the siblings had a long conversation about various things. It had culminated in Christ telling her to end things with Robert. She hadn't argued, but had told him that she could handle her own life, thank you. And what about his life? He wouldn't comment. Not that it mattered. Robert had taken Chris's advice anyway, and at the airport as they checked their bags he took a deep breath and announced in a heavy tone, "We're done."

The words had surprised her, but at the same time, she had been expecting them. It wasn't something that she could have not seen coming, the whole time in Washington he had been surly and withdrawn. When she _tried_ to talk to him, he had snapped or grunted. He was unhappy, and Robert didn't deal with unhappy very well. Claire didn't deal with the even more zombie-like responses, and she knew that towards the end of the week she'd gotten hostile in return. Really, relationships were a mess. And then after she'd come back so late from dinner with Leon…

There hadn't really been time to process what happened with Robert. She was busy thinking about what had gone on with Leon… and then she hadn't the time to think about anything but work. San Francisco was bright enough to forestall any of her own flashbacks, but there were signs of the cleanup after the outbreak everywhere. Scorch marks on buildings, power washing where other stains had been forcibly removed. The people were thinner, and… there were more children than parents to manage them.

It was the children that Claire was assigned to. And after the weeks of beginning the very careful conversations with several of them, she felt exhausted. Glad to know that they would all most likely be able to recover, children were the best at that, really, and with more therapists… ones that were trained in that sort of thing, they would have little problem.

Then from San Francisco she'd been sent to another on-location job. The two-week absence from her daily life had turned into two months, a blissful two months that had nothing to do with thinking about her _damn_ ex, but when she'd got in to the airport, she'd run across someone who looked remarkably like Robert… and that had brought a rush of emotion back to her that she hadn't originally felt.

The taxi ride to the apartment building had taken her through the rainy turnpikes. She leaned her head on the window and let tears pour out of her eyes. They weren't necessarily for Robert. She wasn't angry at Robert, but rather for all the things that she was too horrible at figuring out on her own. All the failed relationships, even the ones that had ended too soon…

She wondered if Leon had anything to do with the delay in the tumult of emotions that she felt. Even if only in retrospect, the pain was just as real as though it were in the present. She felt weak, and… She wanted Leon. Like a child wanting a teddy bear, she wanted him. He made it all feel so much better.

He was something she _didn't_ fail at. And it was reassuring to think that something like that could still exist.

The rain splattered her, dampening her jacket and hair, but she was glad of the unhappy weather. It suited her. She was angry, and it needed a place to unleash itself. How many more times, she asked herself, would she be disappointed? Either the guy was nuts, she couldn't help but think that Steve hadn't been the most stable of people, given his actions, or the guy was cold, she had to admit despite his supportiveness she wouldn't call Leon warm on average, or they were just less than admirably manly.

Robert was the latter.

And after a time, he'd been worn down by the fact that she was a survivor type. Or that she was usually surrounded by para-military friends of hers. Oh, or that her brother was a big, hulking, over-protective, gun wielding asshole. She leaned heavily against the cab, tipping her chin up to the overcast sky. The raindrops hit her face, cooling warm cheeks, and she took in a deep breath, trying to calm down.

Nah, Claire reasoned with herself, it couldn't _possibly_ be that her brother was the best at being intimidating when he felt like it, even by proxy if he had to, and even from an unknown distance. She wasn't sure how he managed that. Or… exactly why. It must have been after Antarctica that his brotherly impulse had been rekindled. Maybe, like Leon had suggested to her after the Raccoon City incident, he hadn't wanted to give her nightmares, and couldn't relate to her before he knew that she knew about what Umbrella did.

Claire leaned in to pay the cab driver for the trip, and then straightened up more resolutely. She sighed, putting a hand to her temple. No, Chris wasn't overprotective, unless it was with guys like Robert. He was actually fairly good about men in her life, just… sometimes a little _too_ over-protective about people he deemed would likely get her killed. So there was Chris, and then after Harvardville… seeing Leon again…

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. There was no reason to think about it. No reason to think about him, about his care, his camaraderie. She had to remember to think of Leon for what he was. A handsome, attractive guard dog. He was good at guarding things, he was good at fighting, at protecting, at listening…

No!

She couldn't remember that about him. She couldn't think about him like that. They'd been through too much together for her to kill his happiness by being selfish. When was it that they'd spoken and he'd mentioned Angela in passing, wistfully? She wouldn't say anything to him that would damage him reaching out for something normal. God knew he never did that to her. He listened when he had no reason to.

That begged the question, what exactly _was_ that in D.C.? Why the sudden swoop in to remove all her stressful baggage? It was a little pre-emptive, really. She hadn't even been properly broken up with Robert at the time. But she had wanted, desperately, Leon to be with her. That was surprising, but… the more she'd been thinking about it, the more it felt right.

Straightening up, she headed for the apartment building, reaching into her purse for her keys. She was startled when her cell phone rang, but she gripped it and answered. "H… hello?"

"You sound so surprised when I call you sometimes, I wonder if you check the number at all."

"Leon," she said softly, shaking her head as she successfully retrieved her keys from her bag. "I… why should I have… thought you'd call so soon?" Damp hair wasn't helping her search for the appropriate access to her apartment building. She reached the front entrance and flipped through the keys on her ring.

"Are you alright, Claire?"

"There's no reason for me not to be alright," Claire replied.

"Breakup," Leon surmised.

It was annoying how he could tell that sort of thing. She hated it. She hung up the phone. Of course, Leon didn't truly deserve such treatment, but he wouldn't fault her too much for the attitude. Or at least he wouldn't if she apologized, and she knew she would do that before long.

Aside from Chris, Leon was the closest thing she had to a confident about her nightmares. And as she wasn't too inclined to talk to Chris at the moment…

Punching the button on the elevator, she leaned against the back of the car and redialed Leon. It rang a few times, and then he picked up. "You know Claire, I admire you, but you're a real piece of work sometimes."

"You admire me being a piece of work?"

"You could say that, if you want." There was silence a moment on the line. "Of course, it doesn't mean you don't have to apologize."

More silence on the line. Claire contemplated her door keys as the elevator doors opened.

"_Claire_."

"I'm sorry," she admitted finally, speaking softly. She headed out into the appropriate hallway.

"I can't quite hear you clearly, Claire."

"Look, I'm sorry," Claire said, blowing her bangs from her face. She reached her door and pushed the key into the lock. "I just…"

"I know," Leon's voice was reassuring, despite the fact that she was annoyed with how well he sometimes seemed to know her.

It annoyed her worse to think that he sometimes knew her so well, but never seemed to get that she might want more from him than his uncanny ability to trust her and read her moves.

Claire blinked at herself.

Since _when _had she wanted to put the moves on Leon?

"Can I get to the reason I called now?"

'You mean it's not to lord over me the supermodel paratrooper you're sleeping with?' she asked herself. It was unkind. "O… of course, Leon." She shut the door behind herself.

"I'd like to see you."

"Angela unavailable?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized that she was saying them. She didn't have any right to be jealous of whomever Leon chose to sleep with! She winced in response and fumbled with the lock to make up for her awkward silence.

"Dumped me," Leon said, a touch of bitter remorse evident to her in the tone he used as he said that. Poor Leon. "You know how it goes. You're the only girl who doesn't get turned off when I disappear on my anti-Umbrella black op missions."

Poor Leon, she mused to herself, all the girls he's attracted to die or dump him. "Nice to know you really care. But I've been on them myself, I try not to be a hypocrite most of the time."

There was a pause. A longer pause than Claire was used to from her stoic friend. His answers were almost always readily available. A quip for whatever she queried, a laugh for whatever she quipped back.

"I care, Claire."

"Well then," she licked her lips. "It's only been two weeks, I can only imagine how much you must _really_ miss me. What did you have in mind, Leon?"

"Well first, it's been two _months_. And other than that… well, it depends."

Claire blinked. Had it really been two months? It never felt as long, when they were speaking again, as it really was between the times they spoke. "On?"

"Are you going to spend the whole time angry? Because if that's the case, I'll take you somewhere as cold as the mood."

That brought a laugh, unbidden, to Claire's lips, and she didn't bother covering it up. Leon seemed to be chuckling with her. "And if I'm not?"

"Then a little tropical R&R isn't out of the question, I'd say. Some place slightly more normal than our last lengthy face to face encounter."

"And what's wrong with Utah?" Claire asked.

Leon chuckled. "Plenty."

Looking out the window at the rainy day that greeted her, Claire crossed to flop onto her couch. It suited her mood, the rain. She was surprised at her phone. Usually in weather like this, it behaved much more poorly. She made a face at it. Even _her phone_ liked Leon. So horrible.

"If you'll be nice, I will," Claire said to him.

"I'm always nice."

"Too nice," she said softly. It didn't really matter when she'd started wanting to put the moves on him, because it was true. Claire wanted to put the moves on Leon. She wanted to touch someone who wouldn't take it personal when she pulled away in her sleep during a nightmare, she wanted to relax knowing that she didn't have to be on her guard all the time.

The thought that came to her was very strange. She wanted someone who would be normal with the way that she was. It wouldn't be a normal situation, but Leon would definitely suit. "I'd be happy to get out of here for a while, Leon."

"Is tomorrow too soon?"


	11. 2:2

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Only Leon could manage to get hurt the way he did on the mission I'm referencing here. I don't think the site has an appropriate category for what I'm writing. Technically this story is Romance-Action-Horror. But of course anytime you write something about Leon, you end up with at least _some_ politics… which could make it R-A-H-Drama or R-A-H-Intrigue. Either way, we get to the "Adventure" in this chapter. (Again, I really wish the category was Action.)

A note about Leon's gun, as I've described it. I was using several conversations I'd had about the gun various places, and a wiki article about the weapons used in Degeneration. It was VERY early research. The H&K Sigma is meant to be a cross between the H&K USP and the S&W Sigma. Despite my love for the series, I'm not the gun bunny I should be. In retrospect, I'm going to say that I see Leon with the S&W Sigma chambered for the .357SIG cartridge. (Zombies likely require a few shots to do them under with a lesser bullet, and when tossing a handgun to one's partner, you're probably trying _not_ to get them killed.)

* * *

**May 2006**

That, at least, would appease Hunnigan. He hung up the phone with Claire and turned to look back towards his coworker's office. Pushing the door to come in from the balcony, he crossed the hall to the offices and headed inside. His desk sat, mostly immaculate, with the small, state of the art laptop that he never used. Leon _could_ use it, he just normally had better things to do with his time. There were various desks for the field operatives. Most of them were shared. Leon was one of the senior operatives, so even though he was rarely in the office, his desk was his own. It had a single old family picture on it that was covered in dust sitting next to a frame that was of the picture he'd had taken at Claire's graduation. The pictures were two of the only keepsakes he actually cared about. Sherry had given him one of the others. The pink leather was ridiculous, but it meant a lot, considering whose it was. He only had a strip of it tied around the lamp base, but it was there. He missed Sherry, but she had disappeared into government care before Umbrella had been taken down, and he hadn't, even with his new connections, been able to track the girl down. The second… he kept in a closed drawer. A locked, closed drawer that the younger operatives thought was where he kept his gun. That was a little naïve of them. He kept his gun on him.

Distracted and annoyed, he'd proved to some of the junior operatives _exactly_ why there was a regulation quarantine period between missions. It was mostly Mack's fault for goading him into it, but he couldn't blame the other man. Sometimes… seeing Claire was like getting poisoned. Afterward he couldn't sit still, he felt an itch, and had to _do_ something. This time it was taking Mack's place, and the bullet he likely would've gotten on the mission. Begrudgingly, Leon wished that just _once_ he could get shot somewhere new. He had to be fished out of the water after he took the bullet, nearly drowning. Hunnigan was the leader of the chorus against his rash actions. Leon couldn't fault her or the rest of the chorus, it was a rookie sort of thing to do that he should have been over by that point.

But honestly, he'd needed to get out of Washington.

He still did.

Hunnigan was, as usual, in front of multiple monitors. Her fingers were working on various keyboards, but she didn't have her headset on. That was a good sign that she wasn't up as a mission contact.

"Yes, Leon?" she asked without turning from her screen.

"I thought you'd be glad to know that I'm taking time off," he said. "I'm on my way to DeKay's room to put in the sick request."

"About time," Hunnigan said. "How far away are we going?"

"Somewhere tropical," Leon said, "and a thousand miles away from a research center or small possessed town, or…"

"Or the president's daughter?" Hunnigan asked. "She called again, you know."

"I do now, should I care? She hasn't been abducted by crazed, plague-ridden cultists, has she?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Hunnigan said, "but if she thought she might see you if that were the case, I wouldn't entirely put it past her. So Leon S. Kennedy is going out of the country on pleasure rather than business. Should I alert the papers? Or the tabloids?"

"I'd rather you didn't, really."

"What about BSAA? Should I alert them now, or wait for you to call?" Hunnigan asked.

"Your teasing is still annoying, Ingrid," Leon said, frowning a bit. While it was a good idea, so far his faith in the BSAA was a little lacking. It was a rookie agent that had missed the zombie and shot him instead. "I'm just going on vacation. Where I go isn't much of anyone's concern. My cell phone will still work."

"Tropical vacations are rarely taken alone, Agent Kennedy. I had thought you and Officer Miller were over, but…" Hunnigan's voice sounded chiding.

"Don't get romantic on me about her, Hunnigan," Leon said. "Every time you get romantic about me and some girl, I end up with knife wounds. Angela might shoot me if you keep intervening in our relationship, and it's over already. The more bullet holes, the longer my leave, and I know you hate it when I'm gone."

"If you really believe that, Kennedy…"

"I don't," Leon said. "And I'm not going alone, but keep your nose out of it right now."

"Someone old or someone new?"

"Asking that doesn't classify as keeping your nose out of it, Hunnigan. You're worse than Founder," Leon said. He waved to her, even though she hadn't turned to look at him, and left the room. No sense staying where he didn't feel like talking.

Plus, he still had to submit his leave request to DeKay. Not that Joseph would deny him, given his physical condition, but… Leon shook his head and headed to his commanding officer's office. He knocked on the door, and after a moment, the man called for him to come in. Joseph DeKay was anything but what one expected for a higher up in the secret service, but he had been. He wasn't what normally suited Washington, but then neither was Leon. Not that either man couldn't make himself fit the mold when he needed to, but neither of them needed to very often.

Like the BSAA, DeKay and his subordinates were around because they were effective, not because they wore clean pressed suits and drove nice cars. Leon loved his Comanche, he didn't think that Washington felt the same about it. He knew that car chases didn't like it, which is why he'd gotten the BMW. Washington approved of that, even if he should wear a tie more often, it let him blend in a bit more.

Stepping into the office, DeKay put up his hand to hold him off from speaking. "I'm aware of the senator's demise, congressman. He was not under our jurisdiction at the time, and he was not in protective custody, as he resigned prior to his loss of life, and retired to his private condo immediately before he kicked the bucket. I'll thank you to keep that in mind before blaming my people of 'letting him get infected'. We don't let people do that, we clean it up when they've done it. But not with anthrax in their coffee. That'll be all today, thank you."

Leon waited for his boss to look up at him. DeKay was imposing, like Leon found he wasn't, at least not physically. A six and a half foot African-American, he rarely wore a tie, and even less often wore a suit to the office. Black pants and a button down shirt, certainly, but Leon never thought of his clothes as those of a supervisor, even though he was.

"Kennedy. Hunnigan says you finally decided to listen to the leave order?"

"I wasn't aware it was an order, sir."

"You wouldn't be," DeKay said. He looked up for the first time since I entered his office. "Jesus, you look like shit. Paler than you have a right to be, and… someone really did tear your stitches after China?"

Leon almost frowned at being asked that. The two months and the antibiotics hadn't exactly wonders for his healing cheek but… he thought a moment. No, he couldn't say he'd spoken to his commanding officer without the bandage in the time between when he'd been in the hospital after China and before his rash trip to Texas. It was a fair question. "Ex-girlfriend, sir. She was in SRT. Tore out my stitches in early March."

"Before you decided to go swimming, then." DeKay chuckled, a low sound that somehow never offended Leon, even when it was directed at him. Or about him, as the current case. "That the girl you picked up in Harvardville?"

"Yes… sir." Two dark chocolate eyes fixed on Leon, and he knew his boss was waiting for more of an answer than the one he'd just supplied. "I guess I picked the wrong one."

"There were two?" DeKay sounded surprised. Well, it wasn't out of the question. It wasn't like Leon had mentioned who the TerraSave employee who assisted him was in the report. He had probably left that information out of his report on purpose. It wasn't the best thing to do, outing your friends to you government bosses about their… unique pasts. Even DeKay, who was usually very level-headed in regards to such things, wasn't someone that Leon trusted with information about Claire and the rest of the Anti-Umbrella Movement.

"Claire Redfield, sir."

"I see. Her brother's BSAA."

Leon stood at ease, hands folded behind him, it didn't keep him from tensing in expectation of the accusation. He was waiting for DeKay to add something about an intra-organizational incident if there was a fight, or… he didn't care. He waited to see what would be added.

"How long are you taking?"

"Two weeks, sir."

"Take a month, and if you come back before three have passed I'll personally lock you in a padded room for a while." Leon was surprised, yet again, by his boss. He nodded in acceptance, and pressed his lips together. He had been pushing a bit harder since Harvardville, he admitted to himself. "Bergen was uncharacteristically rash and stupid for you, Kennedy. You're not authorized to die without two weeks' notice. Keep that in mind."

"I will, sir."

"Good, then get out of my office and go pack."

Leon nodded and turned to leave the room. He didn't understand his boss all the time, but he knew the man was very good at managing his assets. Leon was one of those, all of DeKay's employees were assets of his, and resources. The man knew his business, and Leon had to respect that. He also liked that DeKay had received Leon years ago with the same attitude, and it never faltered. It was comradely, but not friendly. There was still a boss and a subordinate. DeKay trusted his subordinates, but he definitely was in charge.

Checking his watch, Leon pondered. He headed for the elevator and checked on his phone the departure times of the flights he was thinking about… if he got up early enough, he could take I-95 all the way to Newark and pick Claire up in time to make the plane.


	12. 2:3

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Chapter breaks happen with the POV changes. I'm just as anxious to get the story onward, trust me. Interesting note. The beginning of this section was actually where I started the story originally, but I had to figure out the details of what was making Claire so angry, so that's where the first part came from. (45 pages later, we entered the original section of the story.) Other interesting stats: Currently the master document is 213 pages long. I hope everyone has a good Easter weekend (whether you celebrate or not, just enjoy the non-weekdays!).

* * *

**May 2006**

Not knowing which place Leon would actually be taking her, despite her attempts to steer him towards the tropical getaway, Claire had packed two suitcases. Not an overly large amount of luggage, but definitely more than she was accustomed to. Leon had text-messaged her instructions on their flight time, and appropriately, she was about to dial the taxi when he called.

"Claire."

"I was just about to call a taxi, you know. Why are you calling me?"

"Honestly, you need your own car," he said to her.

He sounded close, but she reasoned with herself that he always sounded close. "I happen to like my motorcycle, and besides… Not all of us are James Bond," she replied, teasing him lightly. Really, she was proud he had progressed so far since their first encounter in Raccoon City. She liked to think that she had a small part in that advancement, but she didn't flatter herself too much over it. Leon made his own luck, she found.

Thankfully he was horrible at making that luck with women the way he had been with his career, or she might not have her friend. Or at least not the vacation.

"I'm calling because I don't _want _you to take a taxi."

"Well if you want me at the airport…"

"Lock up and come downstairs. I'm sick of sitting in your horrid New Jersey weather."

Her heart sped up slightly, and she fumbled not to drop the phone. "Jeez," she said. "I'm coming."

He just chuckled. She hung up the phone and closed her bags. It was a breeze between the closing and her exit from the entrance. She was not surprised to see Leon leaning on a dark car, scowling slightly at the clouds. He crossed and took one of her suitcases, popped his trunk, and swung it in. It was as he was turning to take her other one that she caught the first sight of his face, it seemed. She swung suitcase number two into the trunk, and frowned. His face was pale, somewhat gaunt, and the gash he'd had was now an angry looking scar just starting to fade. If not for his color, he would look vastly improved from the last time when she'd seen him, almost two months ago in March, wasn't it?

"I see your killer good looks are returning swiftly," she teased, reaching up to slam the trunk. He made a non-committal noise at that. Claire pressed her lips together and reached over to give him a hug, threading her arms around him, and pulled him close. "Forced time off, huh?"

"Very," Leon said. He didn't hug back for a moment, but then he put one arm around her back. The other lifted and he pressed her head into the crook of his neck.

Whatever else, Claire thought, this was something he only accepted from her. She was relieved and a little startled to find that the same things she'd felt when he hugged her two months prior in his apartment were still true. Why she was startled, she didn't know. Leon had no reason to have changed. His arms would be the same… but the feeling didn't _have_ to be the same, she guessed. But it was the same. Leon's embrace was warm and comfortable in a way that still surprised her to feel. He even smelled the same. He smelled a little different than she thought she remembered, but that could just be a faulty memory.

"Good to know I'm a requirement for this leave." She figured it was a good feeling, but there was nothing to say he got anything more than comfort from it. She reckoned she better not either.

"The only one," he said softly. Her heart sped up at hearing him say that. It was stupid. She tried to stop it, but the treacherous organ refused to listen. Claire gripped the back of his jacket tighter at that, afraid to pull away and let him see the faint blush to her cheeks. He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in a deep breath. "Lilac now?"

"Wisteria," she corrected softly.

"Appropriate," he replied in a matching tone. His fingers stroked her hair gently. "Let's get going," Leon said, "otherwise we'll miss the good plane."

"Warm, right?" Claire asked as he clicked another button, unlocking the doors. She rounded to hers, watching him.

"Yes, warm," Leon said. His eyes watched her closely, and to hide the blush, she got into the car.

Why was she blushing at Leon's look? What was different this time than the other times she'd seen him in the last seven or so years? She didn't know… it was just… different. Sliding into the seat in the car, she took her first look at it. The interior of the BMW was sleek, but somehow familiar. "Yours?" she asked with a chuckle.

"Mm," Leon confirmed, nodding as he started the engine. "Nothing wrong with a little door to door service?"

"You must have actually missed me."

"We only live four hours apart, Claire. It's almost cheaper than flying here," Leon said. He reached over and pulled her seat belt out in front of her. "Buckle up."

"Planning to run a lot of stop lights?" she asked, surprised at how his proximity made her heart race a little. It was annoying, almost. But then she looked at him, and he was familiar and relaxing. That was almost _as_ annoying.

"I don't vacation much, forgive me for not knowing what's normal in this situation." He offered a smile that pulled at the scar on his cheek. "Sorry, I was trying to make this normal."

"It's alright," Claire said, leaning her head against the headrest. "I don't really do well with normal. You're good just like you are, Leon. Although your car _definitely_ reminds me of Chris's."

Leon chuckled as he started the car, and Claire smiled a little. What was that smell that clung to him? She couldn't quite figure it out. As the car turned on, the radio came with it. She expected something loud… a blast of rock music like what had come on in the Comanche when they were in Washington, or maybe something poppy like what he had been humming under his breath incessantly in Orkney. She wasn't quite prepared for the jazz music that almost seemed to slide out of the speakers to fill the car.

He reacted to her surprise with a quick hand moving for the volume knob, but she brushed his hand aside. "Drive," she said. He put his hand back on the steering wheel for a moment, but a nervous twitch moved it down to the gear shift between them. "Who is this?" she asked.

"You can change it, if you want," Leon replied immediately.

"Who's song, Leon?"

"It's… Miles Davis," he said. His hand adjusted on the steering wheel, and as he pulled onto the highway that would take them to the airport, he shifted gears a little more forcefully. "Keeps me from speeding."

"Nothing to be upset about," Claire said, tipping her head to look out the window. "I never pictured you for listening to jazz music, but…"

"Well, not a ton, but…"

"Don't worry," she said in a tone she hoped was reassuring, "I'm not going to think of you any differently. Not _all_ jazz music is for elevators."

He chuckled.

Claire smiled at that. Good. The next time he shifted, it was much less forcefully. She watched him from the corner of her eye for a moment, and then settled to turning her head to look at him fully. There wasn't any reason not to. "…yeah, I know."

"What?" Claire asked, blinking. She hadn't said anything. The song trailed out with the characteristic up-scale twinkle of the piano keys, and she shifted to look at him.

"Scar," Leon replied.

Oh, hell.

"Hadn't _really_ noticed that, Mr. Bond."

"Bond?" Leon asked. Claire nodded, taking a minute to scratch her head and loosen her ponytail. "In what way am I like James Bond?"

"Tall, attractive Caucasian secret agent."

Leon snorted at that. "There's nothing secret about me being an agent," he retorted. "And-" Leon cut himself off, eyes trained on driving. He looked very cautious, but she thought he always looked fairly cautious when they were in a car together. The car slowed, traffic got tighter as they neared the airport. Leon had to downshift from fourth to second. He shook his head a little and gestured to his face.

"Look, why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Claire reached over and put a hand on his cheek, letting her fingertips trace his scar. "Sure, I notice the scar, but I don't care. You're still the same Leon, and I'm still happy to see you."

His hazel eyes turned to her, and for a moment she thought she saw doubt in them. The doubt melted away to relief. It must have been a rather… devastating blow to him, when he was cut. She wanted to ask, but… it had been so long ago that she thought it might be awkward. She should've asked before, in Washington, maybe. But no… they were fine. There had been better things to talk about then.

"Claire, I…" The taillights in front of them moved, and Leon turned his eyes back to the road from where he was looking. His lips seemed less strained, though. "Thanks."

"Of course," Claire replied. The timbre of his voice as he said it made her feel warm. It was strange. She hadn't realized she was so… so… _helpful_ to Leon's mood before. He was always pushing towards their goal and…

She almost smacked herself. Goal? They were going on vacation, there _was no goal_. Maybe that was part of what was making this so awkward. They were friends, they were comrades, there was comfort… maybe even chemistry, but… Claire and Leon had very few normal situations to relate to one another in. Not that it should matter, considering. If they could trust one another with protecting each other's lives, each other's backs… there was nothing wrong with entrusting their thoughts and feelings, was there?

No. There wasn't. At least not for Claire. Even if she couldn't quite bring herself to say those things out loud, she did at least want to share them. She knew she _could_ share them with Leon. He seemed to know and feel the same, or at least she hoped he did. She looked at his profile. He spared her a glance from the road ahead as he shifted again, and the corner of his lips turned in a slight smile.

He knew.

Or at least he was starting to get it.


	13. 2:4

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: I have a word of advice to those going into an art field. _Meet. Your. Deadlines._ (And try not to have a second job, that will help with the first bit of that.) I'm on an inking deadline right now, and it's murder. MUR-der. But, as I'm a few days late putting this chapter up, it's a touch longer than the last ones. Enjoy.

* * *

**May 2006**

More than he liked, the hug had helped. Leon frowned a little at realizing that when he was hurt, the only thing he wanted was Claire's arms. The soft warmth of her breath on his neck… the sting of her words in his ears. It wasn't idyllic, it wasn't peaceful, but it was comfortable.

At the airport, he parked the BMW in the restricted parking area. Claire eyed him, but he disregarded her look and reached into the glove compartment. From there he liberated an identification tag and hung it on the rear view window. It was left over from when he was out of country in Norway, but he didn't really mind.

"Isn't this called office shrink?" Claire leaned forward and flicked the tag with her finger.

"I prefer to think of it as the perks of my job," Leon replied. "Besides, do you really want to take all the walkways and elevators to get to and from the normal garage?"

Claire chuckled at him. They climbed out, and he popped the trunk, moving to scoop up their bags. "Leave that one on the left," Claire said. Leon turned to look at her. "I didn't know if you were taking me somewhere cold, so I came prepared. It is the boy scout motto, after all," Claire said. She brushed her bangs with her fingers and looked a little awkward.

Leon just smiled and did as she asked. It was better for him, anyway. Less weight to carry. Two wounds… He could sigh at that, but he decided not to dwell. "You did bring your passport?" The two of them headed into the terminal and Leon led her straight to the baggage-check.

"No, I left that at home," Claire said, words dripping with sarcasm.

The terminal didn't seem to disturb her. Leon was glad of that. After Harvardville, it could. They stood in line. Claire fidgeted with her hair a little more, and Leon shifted to bump their shoulders together before stepping up to the baggage counter. Leon could feel that Claire's eyes followed him as he stepped up. This part probably made her a bit curious. How _did_ the government agent get through customs?

"I'll need your tickets, sir," the gentleman behind the counter said. He looked like he might, if it were a good day, be in his early twenties. The man's badge, Leon noticed as he returned his attention there, said Clark. On a bad day 'Clark' was probably mistaken for a teenager. His face was boyish, his build was very lanky. He had a dark mop of wavy hair over a freckled face that held wary brown eyes.

Well, working for Atmos…

Leon placed their check luggage on the scale and reached into his jacket and produced the two of them. He had taken a detour the night before to go to Dulles. The ticket counter lady had looked as bewildered as 'Clark' behind the check-in counter looked here. The man blinked, looking at Leon a moment, dark eyes looking more concerned than when Leon had first approached the counter. Of course most people used digital tickets, but Leon just felt more comfortable with paper in his hand when he was hopping the country, either on business or… even though it was the first time, on pleasure.

"Atmos Airlines appreciates that you've made the choice to take your journey with us today. Is there anything you'd like to declare in the luggage sir?" Clark sounded like he was reciting a script with the direction of 'wary survivor #3'.

"Just this," Leon said. He knew what he was about to do would do nothing to help Clark's attitude of being trapped in a horror movie.

Leon produced the small leather-bound folio that held his International Authorization to Carry Arms. Something that had taken several years and several psych evaluations in several languages to acquire. Not many people had one, but they did exist. After all the terrorism incidents, they were getting both more necessary and more difficult to acquire. The license to carry a firearm on an international commercial airplane was no small feat. Unfortunately, because it was like having a Philosopher's Stone or riding in on a unicorn, most of the time he had to spend an hour waiting for a supervisor to put a call in to Washington, but when Hunnigan heard he was going out of the country, she'd sent an authorization ahead, telling him to have the baggage personnel check the daily bulletins. Clark looked dubious at the paper, almost like he was about to ask the man with the gun to politely leave the airport.

"Check your bulletins for the day."

Clark did as he was requested, taking a moment to double check. Then he glanced up at Leon, no doubt comparing photographs with the Arms Document. He still seemed skeptical. Leon resisted the urge to roll his eyes or sigh. "Scar's new."

"Yes, it is," Leon replied. He turned and offered Claire a small smile over his shoulder. She looked confused and more than a little curious at what was going on. "This'll just take a minute," he assured her before turning back to the check-in attendant.

"Alright, you've got me there," the baggage attendant said. "I'll need to see the lady's passport as well."

Claire fumbled to supply it. When she'd produced it from her carry-on, the man looked over it, and blinked. He turned his eyes to Leon, and then again to Claire. "Tell me the airport's safe."

"Passport endorsements," Leon muttered, as though for Claire's benefit. That was another annoying part of international travel for them. Or it would be, if they continued to travel together and she kept working for TerraSave. International organizations that required their employees to travel across country borders had been required to start endorsing their employees' passports. In some cases, Leon just used a different passport. He was surprised Claire had allowed that to happen to hers, she was usually very adamant about not letting people know what was going on with her movements, especially work-related ones.

"It's fine," Leon said to the spooked baggage attendant, holding up a hand for the paperwork. The man nodded, giving the papers to Leon, and he handed Claire her passport.

"Anything to declare in the baggage?"

"No," Claire said. She narrowed her eyes at the baggage claim attendant and shook her head. The attendant handed Leon the claim tickets, and he nodded, turning.

Leon headed past her, and when she didn't follow, he reached back and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her from the counter. Thankfully, she didn't resist. "Come on."

They passed through the terminal security the way Leon always did. Claire's face still looked dubious and curious at the same time. It might be almost creepy for her, Leon thought, not having to go through the security checks like a normal person. Sure, she had to stand up and hold her arms for a wanding, but usually… well. Leon had heard that after Harvardville the TerraSave endorsement was a good way to get selected for 'random' special screening. This, in comparison, would be like a cakewalk.

When she got finished with the wanding Leon put his arm right back around her shoulders and lead her into the terminal. He kept the arm around her shoulders, even though she glanced at him curiously. He felt relaxed, almost normal. "So are you going to tell me where we're going, or am I going to have to read the destination at the gate kiosk?"

"Micronesia," Leon replied. Claire started. "What? It's warm, it's a short hop to Australia, and they speak English."

"You're… taking me… to Micronesia?" she pulled him to a stop.

"Is there a problem with that?" Leon asked. "Would you rather I took you to Hawaii? There's still clean up there. And-"

"Ok, I get your point," Claire said. She motioned with her head to the seats across from where she'd stopped their walking, and they sat down. Leon tried not to notice that he still had his arm around her, but it was kind of hard… Claire leaned back against the seat. "Tell me we don't have a long wait," she breathed out.

"Twenty minutes or so," Leon said, glancing at her. "Even secret agents have to be early."

"Or late," Claire chuckled.

"Did you two break up in the airport?" Leon asked softly.

Claire nodded without saying anything. The sound of the airport rushed in around them, and Leon felt awkward. He looked away, trying to quell the annoyed, jealous feelings in his chest that came any time she mentioned some other man. It wasn't the easiest thing to do. He-

"Let's talk about something else," Claire said. She blew air at her bangs, and turned her head to look at him. He could feel it rolling on his arm. "Why did they put you on R&R?"

"SOP," he replied, still feeling annoyed. Across from them, a little old lady was wrestling with an agitated dog in a carrier. He focused on that, and tried to let go of his jealousy.

An annoyed noise came out of her, and Leon spared her a glance. "Maybe _I_ should be taking _you_ somewhere cold."

"Claire."

"I hear Norway's in the right latitude."

Leon couldn't help but laugh at that. Back to Norway? Not a chance. Once in Bergen was more than enough for his taste. "What's funny?" Claire's voice was still annoyed.

"I just got _back_ from Norway," Leon said. He squeezed the arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "Bad memories."

She stilled a little against him, lifting a hand to rest against his chest. It was amazingly intimate, or at least it must look that way to passers-by, Leon thought. "Are you _well_ enough to go on vacation?" she asked, blue eyes concerned.

"I've had my usual dose of vaccines, Daylight only one of them," Leon assured her.

He was surprised when Claire's hand tightened in his shirt. "Is that why you're so pale?"

"No, that would be the near-drowning. Tell Chris to train his subs better, one of the rooks shot the wrong struggling body."

There was silence a moment. He wondered if he'd annoyed Claire with it… if she was going to pull away. He _really_ didn't want that. He rather liked holding her. "You know I _really _don't follow," Claire said in a weary voice that ached with frustration.

For a moment, he pondered that, and then he shifted, tugging the collar of his t-shirt away from the bandaged bullet wound on his shoulder. Claire shifted in the curve of the arm still around her shoulders and leaned over to touch the gauze pad with her fingers. It stung, dully, and Leon knew that the pain medication hadn't really made up for carrying the luggage for her. He'd never tell her that, of course. He let go of his collar, but she kept it tugged to the side. Her fingers lingered there, smoothing over the gauze, and she looked at him.

"It's the same…"

Leon nodded. It was his left shoulder, _again_. "Not a lot of the locals turned, but one who did cornered me on the docks. The BSAA had arrived as backup at that point, but…"

Claire slid her hand across his collarbone, eyes narrowing slightly, there was another set of gauze on that side. "You were bitten." In response, he nodded. Claire put her head against his shoulder, gently, and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Hopefully," Leon paused. He wasn't about to say to her what he hoped she'd do with him. "Take a break?"

"You sure that's all?" Claire must have noticed his pause. She chuckled softly, trying to settle closer to him. Her carry-on was against the hip that was trying to get closer, however. Narrowing his eyes at it, Leon scooped it up and deposited it on the far side of her.

Claire settled against him, resting, lost in her own thoughts, until they had to move to the gate. Leon just enjoyed having her warmth against him until he had to let go so they could board the plane. The dull ache in his shoulders seemed to fade with the heat of her against him, even the weight of her head on the bite marks was less painful than when he touched them. Thankfully, for his usually mild paranoia, they boarded without mishap.

He'd decided on warmth because he knew that he _shouldn't _rip her clothes off. But he _could _see her in as few of them as possible. It was priggish. A part of his mind laughed at him. Given their behavior, it was a silly sort of thing to be worried about. It was a bit lecherous, but he had to allow himself little things in his life. Little things were 'normal'. Angela had argued that he didn't, but she didn't know him anywhere near as well as Claire did. Despite the sex, she just didn't get him the right way. They were compatible, just of… a different mind set.

He hoped they always would be. Let Harvardville be the depth of Angela's nightmare, let it die with her brother's sacrifice to save her. Let that be the most of her pain. Unlike him and Claire, he hoped she could bounce back.

The plane ride would be long, but it was good. Claire, tired from her ever-present emotions or maybe from her constant government studies, fell asleep beside him as soon as they settled into their first class seats. It was good, even though he wished she were leaning against him like in the terminal. Either way, he got to watch her sleep, and reassure himself that she was there. It still felt a little surreal.

The stewardess came by and offered him a drink and a pillow, but he shook his head. Despite Claire's soothing proximity, despite leaving the country and the responsibility of the office behind, he just wasn't comfortable enough to try sleeping. "Anything, sir?" the stewardess offered.

Leon turned his eyes to Claire. "A blanket."

The stewardess returned with it, and Leon covered Claire. She stirred lightly, but made no indication that she was truly awake. He leaned his seat backwards and turned his head to watch her. His mind wandered, slightly, to Angela's reaction to his last _healthy _return to D.C. After coming back from the Ukraine he'd been healthy, for once. That was before the breakup.

If he was nursing Claire's fragile heart back from a breakup, he'd better be sure he was over his own.

He had called Angela as soon as he knew that he would be in town long enough to make calling worthwhile. He could still remember her words. She'd agreed to come visit, and he'd asked if she was excited. Her reply was an almost forlorn, "It's hard to be excited about someone you never see, Leon." And then he'd been sent straight back out into the field. To China, that time. On that return trip, Hunnigan had simply beaten him to the punch by informing Angela of his condition beforehand. The truth stung. Her words burned, mostly because they were true. He knew it was true. It didn't change that the only person he called consistently, the only _woman_ he called consistently, regardless of location, was Claire.

He should've seen the end with Angela coming sooner, he knew.

Maybe Claire was as obtuse as he was in regards to relationships, because half the time she called, she was coming out of a breakup. It annoyed her, it frustrated her. Leon would be inclined to leave her to her obtuseness, to her normal life with its normal problems, if she didn't routinely end up in the middle of outbreaks of B.O.W.s.

Claire shifted a little, one hand flopping out of the blanket. Leon made a move to put it back in the blanket, but settled for taking it in his own. She made a soft noise and shifted a little.

When he was with Angela, his phone got in the way. Sometimes it was work, a lot of times it was work, but sometimes it was Claire. Not that he and Claire were in constant contact. It was monthly, sometimes bi-monthly, but sometimes the conversation lasted for hours. Angela never mentioned that she envied him always answering. Angela never called him to be answered in a tight spot, but she also never said anything aloud about her opinion of his phone habits.

Leon tilted his head towards the roof of the cabin and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the stewardess was standing beside their seats. "Sir, I'm sorry, but you and your wife really have to put your seats up for landing."

He nodded, and glanced to the side. Claire was awake, staring at him. She reached over and lifted her seat back before he lifted his, and the two of them stared. After a moment, when the flight attendant had left them, she thumped their joined hands on the armrest between them. "I didn't know we were at hand holding, Leon."

"Well, you are my wife, after all. I've got some rights." He put his seat in the upright position.

"Keep thinking that," Claire said. She shifted, putting her head against the back of the seat to stare straight ahead.

"If you say so," he replied, still holding onto her hand. "I'm happy to do that for you."

The plane began its descent, and the touch down came close enough that there wasn't any need for more talking. As they were disembarking, Claire smiled at him. "So this is Micronesia…"

"It's better than freezing while I'm recuperating," Leon said. He took her carry on as they exited into the airport, and led the way to the baggage claim.

"You're so selfish, Leon," Claire said.

He looked at her. He couldn't deny that. "This from the person mooching a free vacation."

The two of them collected their luggage and headed out of the airport. Claire had left one bag in his trunk at the airport, so between them there were only two checked bags and her light carry-on. The sun was bright, and she shielded her eyes. "Come on, let's get a taxi," Leon said, enjoying the warmth that circled around them. He lifted a hand as they got to the edge of the curb and a taxi came towards them.

"What, no chartered car?" Claire asked. "You must really be slumming, Leon."

He gave her a sidelong look as the taxi he hailed came closer. The drive climbed out and began loading their things. "I'm trying for normal," Leon said, turning his eyes to her, "remember?"

Claire smiled at that. "So next day trips to… wherever we are is 'normal'?"

"Micronesia," Leon reminded her. "Welcome to Milena." He smiled at Claire, and then chuckled. "Well, you're right there. Maybe it's not normal, but being with you at least makes me feel human."

"I'm far from normal."

Leon hated when she talked like that. The breakup must have been a little more disappointing or painful than normal. He leaned closer to her. "You're normal to me." While she was blinking at that, he opened the back door of the cab for her. "Come on."

*


	14. 2:5

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing. I was very amused at what "Seto Takahashi" said about RE fics making them want to get a Desert Eagle and a Harley. Mmmm… Harley. (That comes later.)

* * *

**May 2006**

It was entirely possible, she knew, that Leon might not want her in the same way she wanted him. The careful, subtle hints she'd been dropping didn't seem to be making much of an impact. Not that it mattered. They'd be on vacation for what… two weeks? She was off for a month, but spending even half of that with Leon was better than the alternative.

She could only make so many grilled cheese sandwiches and wash the dishes so often. Eventually she'd go stir crazy.

At the hotel, she wondered how great last minute reservations could be. She tensed, wondering if Leon had gotten them separate rooms or one together… And then her heart staggered a beat. Did she _want_ to share a room with Leon?

Her eyes strayed to the length of him. He was wearing a leather jacket over a faded outfit of non-descript t-shirt and jeans. Why he had on the leather jacket was beyond her, but even with it on she could take a minute to admire him. Being a secret agent had helped Leon age well, she thought. Not that other men aged particularly poorly, but…

The jeans were a little relaxed, but even so they couldn't really hide the toned strength of his… _legs!_ Claire chided herself, turning her head away, almost by force. It was a bad sign if she was already checking out Leon's ass on the first day, before they were even checked in to the hotel.

His ass had always been there, why was she just noticing it?

"Don't tell me you got sunburn from the cab to the door," Leon said as he turned, holding a key card.

A single key card.

The thing was somehow very reminiscent. How many times had she spent how long looking for one or another color of those? How often had it been just at her fingertips and then she'd gotten through a door only to come upon the foul smell of rotting corpse…

Unbidden, a shiver came to her spine, and she tried to hide it. Leon was either being very forgiving, or he was paying more attention to something else. Claire pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. It was best to do this, to let her senses register that there was nothing in the air around her abnormal, nothing that was going to lurch and open its mouth for her neck.

She pressed her eyes shut, hoping to dispel the fear that was threatening. Somehow it still threatened, no matter what she did. There was always a moment of panic that could happen. The scent of the air changed a little. She smelled cool, clean leather, and that infuriating scent that Leon refused to give a name to. Her mind latched onto that curiosity, and the flashback drifted away from her. Claire opened her eyes. How did he _do_ that? How did the scent of him push everything bad from her mind?

Leon was inspecting her face. His expression was kind, understanding. Claire pressed her lips together again. It was so unusual for anyone to offer her any kind of support… at least like that. Leon knew her so well. He knew what she would be remembering, he _remembered_ what she was remembering. And he still smiled. And he still laughed. And he went to work and did it again and again.

He lifted a hand to touch her cheek, and Claire unexpectedly felt like crying. She fought down the urge, even though it made her throat feel a little raw to do so. "Or is it sunstroke?" Leon asked in a soft voice. His breath brushed her face, and she found a chuckle. "You look a little pale."

"Of course not," Claire said, feeling silly about the whole thing. He was amazingly good at taking care of her. It would be annoying if… it wasn't annoying.

Leon smiled at her, hair falling in his eyes, and she wondered, again, what had caused this change. His hazel eyes were the same as they had been… were they hazel or were they that strange… gray thing. Some people's eyes shifted between blue and green, didn't they?

"Are you coming?" Leon prompted, turning towards the elevators. A bell boy approached him to try and take their luggage, but he shook his head, giving the young man a pointed look as he did so.

Claire could chuckle at that, but she didn't. She had the same hang up about carrying her own luggage. It was something about wanting to know what she had, and not having to struggle with someone to get it back. Somehow, Leon was exempt from this particular bit of survior's OCD. She followed Leon to the elevator, and he pressed the button.

In the cab, he set the bags down, but she barely noticed. Instead she was focused on him. The two of them were the only people in the elevator, and the shiny walls showed their images back to her. Leon's shoulder was barely six inches from hers. He was leaning against the railing lightly, his shoulders against the smooth wall of the elevator cab.

He looked relaxed.

It made her feel safe.

Thank goodness, Claire thought to herself as they headed up the elevator to the hotel room, remembering that he'd only taken one room key card. A part of her was hopeful, but another part knew that two rooms would be unnecessary. With anyone other than Leon, there was a certain amount of… space required. But when it was just the two of them, too much space wouldn't be good for either of them. They were comfortable together. Unlike with… she tried not to think of his name, even then, but unlike with her ex, Leon's presence was reassuring. He kept _away_ the nightmares, now that she no longer slept with a hunting knife handy. And in that situation, in the _current_ situation, too much space was bad. At one point she'd tried renting a house, and it just paranoid her. Too much open space, too many deep shadows.

Leon let them into the room, and she followed, not remembering passing down the hall or the number outside the door. He deposited their bags on the low dresser that was a staple in hotels everywhere. It was normal, it felt nice.

The room had two beds, after all, but they were in the same room. Across from the door there were windows that let in warm sunlight, and a sliding door that looked like it went out onto a balcony. Claire flopped on the bed closest the window while Leon rummaged in his bag, taking some things out of his pockets. She stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and closed her eyes.

Robert's smiling face swam in her vision.

She scowled.

It wasn't until he sat on the bed that she knew Leon had moved closer. With her eyes closed, his weight shifted the mattress just about the same time she could smell that curious mixture of clean, leather, and the unnamed scent of either his cologne or aftershave. Somehow she figured it was aftershave. She really didn't picture Leon as the type for cologne.

"So, do you want to talk about it?"

"What makes you think I want to talk about it?" Claire asked, opening her eyes. She was somewhat surprised to find Leon was leaning over her, one arm planted on the bed, his face looking down at her. His hazel eyes were brightened by the sun, and somehow his complexion didn't look as pale as it had in the Newark Airport. "What's _it_ anyway?"

"You came blindly halfway across the world with me, I think that means something."

"Maybe it just means I wanted to see you," Claire said, turning her head away from the window. It was the truth, and because it was the truth, it was easier to tell than a lie. He would probably chuckle at it, it was the usual response when she said things like that.

"Well that makes me glad." There was no chuckle.

She turned her eyes to look at his face, but she could only see part of it. Leon was looking away, out the window. "Leon…"

"You slept the whole plane ride. Let's get out of this room."

She bit her lip at that. He was so close she could pinpoint what the clean smell he gave off was. Detergent. Or maybe fabric softener. Leon must have done his laundry recently. It was soothing, and she took a deep breath of the scent, trying not to be too obvious. Relaxation stroked its fingers against her tenseness, almost like fingertips rubbing the palm of her hand gently. Like _his_ had done on the plane ride. Her heartbeat sped up in response. "You invited me halfway across the planet," she said softly, "there must be some reason for that."

"I told you that already."

Hesitantly, she reached up and took the edge of his jacket in her hands. The zipper was surprisingly cool against the skin of her palms. He looked down at her when she did that. "Not to my satisfaction."

Leon's lips parted, and he started to say something, but stopped himself. He tried to look away, but she tugged on his jacket firmly enough to bring his eyes back to her. He reached up to brush at her temple, still not meeting her eyes, and she frowned. What was he avoiding?

"Maybe… when I don't see you… I get worried you're in danger," he said hesitantly.

She wanted to ask something, to ask him why, or for more information, but he looked at her then. _Really_ looked at her. He met her eyes with his and she felt her breath catch in her throat. No, that wasn't all there was to his answer. But she wouldn't get it out of him just then. She had two weeks of the vacation to get it out of him, and…

Leon's face moved so slowly she almost didn't notice when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Claire _did_ notice that her heart stopped for a full minute before it began to hammer in her chest violently. Claire noticed that her hand gripped his jacket and she pulled herself up and into the kiss. She noticed that, and then she felt his hand curve around her neck. It was warm. His hand was deliciously warm and…

He pulled away, licking his lips. His hand stayed at her neck, her hands gripped his jacket. "You've… just…"

"Don't you dare," she breathed. She knew what he was going to say. His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Don't you dare bring him up after you just kissed me like that."

Leon's lips tilted in that little smile they had, the one that did the least to move the scar on his cheek. He glanced down at her, and she thought he had a smart remark, but his lips pressed to hers again, and she stopped thinking. He was firm and warm, and her arms found their way around his back.

It felt so right that she felt tears stinging her eyes.

He chuckled softly as he pulled away, and she glared at him, letting go of his jacket with one hand to rub at her eyes. "What?"

"If you're crying now, it's a good thing I didn't slip you any tongue," he said, stroking her cheek with a thumb.

"Jerk," she muttered.

"Claire," Leon said, expression and tone sobering.

"You… you sound to serious, Leon," she replied, turning to look at the wall again. She kept one hand holding the front of his jacket. It was almost childlike, gripping his clothing like that, but she knew if she did, he wouldn't go anywhere. He would stay, no matter what was pre-occupying him. He'd done as much after Raccoon… how could she forget that?

Did it just slip her mind? The two months she'd spent glued to Leon? He had been a gentleman, of course, but there was no denying that she'd been almost obsessed about not loosing sight of him or Sherry, all through October of that year. And while Sherry could escape her by sleeping, Leon she simply would not leave alone. She had numerous reasons to hover over him. His wound, asking where the guns were, asking about food, did they have enough gas?

She hadn't even let him go to the bathroom, for the first two weeks after they'd made it out. The three of them smelled terrible, which was probably why the hotel staff left them alone. Claire didn't mind, so long as she could see everyone and know that they were all safe. Every time Leon started to strip his shirt off and head for the shower, she'd grabbed onto the edge of his undershirt.

Her reaction with Chris after they lost their parents had been similar, but her brother's manner of responding was to shrug her off and order her not to follow him into the bathroom. If Chris had any idea how paranoid doing that had made her about his safety, maybe he would have acted differently. But no, that would make him a different person.

Leon's reaction was what she really needed.

Claire couldn't recall, in that instant, if Leon had sighed when he did it, but if he did, it wasn't an angry noise, just a resigned one. He would pull his shirt back on, and offer her a small smile. It almost cracked the needy part of Claire to see him stay with her, and she'd cried more than once, she knew. Leon's reaction was the same, despite whether she cried or not. He put an arm around her and pulled her into a hug. 'If I can't shower, you have to deal with it,' he'd murmur into her hair.

Eventually her paranoia had soothed and they all got to take a shower. She was amazed at how nice it was to be clean, after two weeks of not bathing. But it wasn't something that was more important than feeling close to the people she cared about. She could go through a lot, she found, to know that sort of comfort. Leon's patience, his reassurance, had secured him in her mind. At the time she thought it was his safety she could feel sure of. Claire spent Thanksgiving with him and Sherry, and after she fell asleep in the diner booth, Leon had asked when she was leaving.

That had surprised her, of course, but he wasn't stupid, of course.

It occurred to Claire, lying on the hotel bed and holding onto the front of his jacket like she was, that it wasn't Leon's safety that had been affirmed to her, or his person in her thoughts. It was her heart he'd made a home in with his actions. She just hadn't been able to understand it then.

And now… now his expression was clouded and he was looking firmly at her collarbone. In another moment, she might accuse him of staring at her breasts, but there was something different to the slant of his lips.

_What_ was with him?

He made a noise she hadn't heard before, and shifted, leaning her down against the mattress, and stroked her cheek a bit more. Her heart did a little flip-flop that she knew he noticed, and Claire felt herself blushing slightly at. "I suppose I'll have to work on that then. I _am_ on vacation."

Leon's other hand found her hairline and Claire tipped her head back as his chest pressed her against the bed. "Tell me this isn't why you brought _me_ along," she said softly, unwilling to trust that… that he felt more than… That what he wanted was what he'd said about feeling normal… just like she did. Maybe that was why he was flipping back and forth between his reactions. Regardless, it felt good. No matter what else, there was that. She slid her arms around him to keep from getting them trapped against him.

"I brought you because you're the only person I always want to see," Leon said softly. "_This_ is just a bonus."

His lips found her throat and she gripped the back of his jacket. It felt good. Leon felt good. His lips, his arms… her heart was hammering, and she felt a little faint. Probably a good thing she was lying down.

"You need to eat something," she said softly as his lips wandered down her throat. "Leon…" His eyes looked up at her face, and he leaned back enough to meet her eyes. His eyes changed, she saw it clearly. He started to pull back, but she tightened her arms around him. "Don't you dare," she said. "I'm jetlagged, and you're underweight… so we should get something to eat. It doesn't mean I haven't wanted this."

Her face turned dark red. She knew that it did. She pressed her lips together and stared at him. He had to understand this, had to get it. She knew she didn't entirely understand it. She was so ready to be close to him, but… not if it meant just like that. There had to be something there… something more, and…

His eyes met hers, and she saw his withdrawal leave them. He just watched her, after a moment. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry…?"

"You're right," he breathed. "I… guess I'm rushing. I mean… I should've said something before, I just…"

"I've known for a long time, Leon." His eyebrows lifted when she said that. "You're bad with women." He chuckled slightly. "I don't mean… this part…" she said, blushing slightly when he lifted a brow at her correction. "With relationships. With knowing when to-"

"Thanks, I know that."

She continued as though he hadn't interrupted her at all. "But when you look at me, I don't know how to say it… I've always kind of… known."

"Known what? That I wanted you?" he sounded a little bitter. He looked away without pulling from her arms.

Claire lifted a hand to his cheek, pressing over the scar that was new, and he lifted his eyes to hers again from where he had turned them with his angry phrase. Was he mad that he was obvious? "That you cared." He looked surprised again. "You always look out for me, but you always look so pained when we have to part. I…"

He shifted, moving closer, and his lips pressed to hers again. Claire felt his arm slide under her back, pulling her to him. She settled in his grip, pressing into the kiss. He hadn't told her she was wrong. He hadn't said she was imagining things. He hadn't brushed off what she said. If Leon was anything, it was truthful. If she were wrong, he'd say so. He'd tell her what it was, if it wasn't that.

There was only the breath that passed between them in the kiss, no negative words. Just reinforcement. Respectful care. The warm feeling of Leon's lips on hers, a sensation that made her wonder why they hadn't done this before.

He pulled back a little, just enough to talk, his hair still brushing her face. "You're right though," he said, "I should eat."

*


	15. 2:6

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Apologies for the space between updates. Life's demanding caprices ensued.

* * *

**May 2006**

Sometimes Leon hated himself.

It was a reasonable reaction. He did stupid shit sometimes. Giving in to Claire's request for dinner… letting her up off the bed… _that_ was stupid.

In other situations, he was stronger against her will, formidable thought it was. If their safety was in question, if there was work to be done, nothing could persuade him. This, or rather that, was _not_ work.

Leon was probably so easily turned because it had been so long since pleasure… since leisure had been allowed to be just pleasant that it was confusing. Not that he and Claire didn't have issues. No two people who'd known each other as long as they had could get around having at least a little baggage. It was inevitable. They weren't constantly around one another, but they were in frequent, almost regular contact. He could easily say that they knew each other intimately. Just without touching.

Claire made him wait for her to change clothes. He hadn't really cared to change his, but she decided that she was going to dress for dinner. She didn't even mention he might want to do the same. He liked that. Sitting up, Leon let Claire up. She climbed off the bed, straightened herself a little, and headed for her suitcase. Claire flapped a hand at him when he started to ask her a question, dragging her bag into the bathroom with her.

It was comfortingly familiar. Claire was. Her mannerisms were easy to predict after so many years of knowing her, and so many situations with her. He thought, and he was fairly certain that she felt the same. He might have changed, he reasoned, from when they first met. He might have gotten quicker reactions, smarter instincts. If you could train instincts.

Waiting, awkwardly, he took off his jacket and removed his shoulder holster. There was no sense being overly paranoid.

But was it really paranoia? Maybe no one was out to get him personally, but that didn't mean that there weren't _things_ out to get him. He let his eyes rest on the H&K where he had set it on the prefab hotel table.

No, it wasn't paranoia.

It was preparedness. He turned his head, glancing at the bathroom door. If he listened closely enough, he could hear Claire moving around in there. It was… no. It wasn't like he wouldn't have a gun if he left this one behind. There was preparedness and there was over-caution.

His companion, while she had a fire in her and was good at MacGuyver-ing a situation, was not one for terribly large amounts of planning in her personal life. In contrast, the immediacy of the trip they were on was probably one of the more impulsive things he'd ever done in his life. Of course the night before he drove to his new post had been similar, but…

Leon couldn't help thinking this would go better than that time.

Even if there was an outbreak… He struggled not to think of that possibility. That **IM**-possibility! He was on vacation. Nothing would happen.

But the calm, cold voice in the back of his head didn't care about the current situation. As usual, the owner of that calculating voice was three steps ahead. Even if there wasn't an outbreak, a part of Leon would always be ready for one. A part of him would always be anticipating one.

And that part of him was always there, always awake. That part of him kept him alive.

So. It was almost like the cool, collected one had a voice that could speak from within the quiet corner of Leon where he resided. If there _was_ an outbreak, at least the two of them were together. He could think of very few people he would rather have in his corner in that circumstance. In that situation, the only person he knew he could completely trust was Claire.

Other options presented themselves for good back-up, decent support, good aim…

But Claire…

Claire came out of the bathroom checking the straps on whatever shoes she had on. Leon couldn't tell what kind they were. His eyes weren't on her feet. She was wearing a dress. And the dress… A younger Leon might have reacted very strongly to seeing her figure… like _that._ Low-cut, skin-showing… The more-adult Leon reacted in his own way. He appreciated the view as she straightened, turning to the mirror to check her hair. Leon wagered he'd at least need to rearrange on man's opinion on what was decent to approach Claire with that evening. He was getting to know how good it felt to _hold_ Claire… he hadn't quite had his thoughts jump so quickly to what her skin would feel like uncovered, but…

Leon slapped his thoughts soundly, but couldn't keep his eyes off her cleavage. He'd seen it in tight clothes before… but not exposed like that…

The hotel restaurant wouldn't do. Claire insisted upon that. The two of them took a cab into the city, and found a decent enough restaurant to eat at. It was obviously a tropical restaurant, there were barely any walls in the place. It was shielded from rain by roll down shutters that wouldn't do much good if one were trying to defend the place. Leon noticed that when they entered, and Claire had either noticed as well or been watching him. Her reaction was to politely elbow him in the arm. Leon felt exposed without his back holster, but he was reassured by the weight of the gun on his ankle. There was only one though, and Claire…

Was in _that_ _dress_. Claire wasn't someone he'd pictured in dresses, before. But he had to admit, he liked what he saw _even _if he couldn't quite recall the color of it from one moment to the next without checking again. The color was unimportant. It was like the dress was just something holding the rest of Claire.

Claire's body was toned, slender… but without the military training… without any formal training in martial forms, she was still curvy like a woman ought to be. Not that Angela or Ada had been lacking in the feminine… His last encounter with Ada had proved she trumped Claire when it came to revealing dresses… but neither of _them _had been redheads.

_He_ didn't even know what he meant by thinking that, but the dress wasn't helping his thoughts make sense. Leon wondered why he didn't find it more annoying. Usually he was in control of his hormones. Or if he wasn't in control of them he was at least the master of them. He knew when he had to… and he even hated to think that it was so basic as that, but he knew when he had to pay due homage to his hormones in order to maintain control in average situations, and he did what he had to do.

Leon set his jaw. Claire was not something he _had to do_. He slapped himself again, mentally. This was not a good start to what was supposed to be a restful vacation with a good friend. Well, good friend turned… what exactly were they? His eyes strayed across the table to Claire, and inevitably descended to Claire's… endowments.

Their table overlooked the beach, she smiled to look out at it past the torches. He smiled to look at her in the torchlight. "You're still staring at my chest, aren't you?" Claire asked, tipping her head back towards him and leaning her cheek on one hand. "How long has this lust of yours been festering? Should I get my own room?"

Leon lifted his eyes to hers.

Under dark red bangs, a pair of what he could legitimately call baby blues regarded him. Claire chuckled playfully. Yeah, this was more like the Claire Redfield he knew. She must be feeling more herself. He hoped he was helping, at least. "Are you always this much of a tease?" he quipped back.

Claire glared at him, eyes sparkling playfully. "You think I'm teasing?"

"I think you're enjoying this," Leon replied. "I think, knowing what you know, after this afternoon… you're enjoying holding this over my head."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that later," Claire said. She put her hand on the table near the middle. Leon reached out towards it, but there was a loud noise outside of the restaurant, overhead. Leon turned his eyes from the pleasing sight before him to look, and frowned, hand stilling before touching Claire's. No. The streak in the sky wasn't a fighter plane. It wasn't.

"No," Claire said softly, echoing his thoughts.

The waiter came by with their food. "Please don't be alarmed, we see this all the time," the man said. He smiled.

Claire reached up and took Leon's hand, drawing his eyes across to her. She offered a slightly strained smile, and when his responded, hers relaxed a little. "Paranoia runs high in these ones," Claire said. She squeezed his hand and picked up her knife and fork.

The waiter's smile didn't make dinner any better, after that.

Leon couldn't quite bring his appetite up to what he'd ordered. Not that he had much of an appetite anyway. The antibiotics were killing that for him. The anxiety of thinking about why a plane was passing overhead was making it worse.

"Earth to Leon," Claire said.

Startling back to attention, Leon glanced across the table at Claire. She had her elbows on the table, fingers steepled under her chin. She was glaring at him. "Ah…"

"It would help to be _officially _dating before you start ignoring me," Claire said.

"I'm sorry," Leon said. "I guess I'm just not hungry."

"You still need to eat something," Claire replied.

"Yeah," Leon replied. He lifted his fork and took a bite. His tongue felt coated. The food didn't taste as good as he thought it would when they came in. He managed to finish the meal, but as soon as the plate was taken away, he forgot what he'd ordered.

Across the table, Claire sat silent. She was looking out at the beach again. "At least I'm not the only one who found that a little-"

The waiter approached, lifting their empty plates and putting desert menus in front of them. Leon pressed his lips together, and started to turn to the waiter, but Claire's foot touched his ankle under the table.

"And what will the two of you be having for desert?"

"The check," Claire said, not even looking over at the man.

Leon had no complaints, he would rather be somewhere more closed off than the open restaurant. The waiter returned with a small nude leather folio that contained the bill. Leon didn't bother looking at it, he'd seen the prices on the menu. He put a credit card into it and handed it back to the man. Claire didn't say anything. He figured she was probably still a little mad at being 'ignored'. Preoccupation should be counted differently, Leon thought. If something was threatening their safety… if something on the island was dangerous…

She kept her foot against his ankle as he signed the bill.

Glancing over at her as they rose, Leon felt his brow furrow a little. He knew what his priority would be, in that situation. As they headed out, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side.

"Leon, what?" Claire asked. Her voice was higher than normal. He knew that tone. He'd heard it more than once when she was chewing out her brother for some assumption or supposed pig-headed chauvinism.

So she _was_ annoyed.

Tightening his hand slightly on her hip, Leon hailed a taxi as they descended the steps that lead from the front of the restaurant to the curb. "If anything happens, stick by my side. We're better together."

He didn't know what response he expected from Claire. Maybe she'd get annoyed, like when they'd talked just before that Thanksgiving in 1998… maybe he'd wake up and she'd have hopped a plane back to the states. Claire, when riled to it, had a temper. Her reactions could, at times, be fairly extreme, and… it had already been pointed out to Leon, _that day_ in fact, that he was bad with women.

She was quiet a long moment. The two of them were the only people from the dinner crowd out of the restaurant just then. Everyone else was probably enjoying the lingering wait between dinner and desert. The evening sky was dark overhead, and beyond the fall of the torches that lit the entranceway, her hair was dark. One of the taxi drivers waiting in the line across the street had caught Leon's gesture, and was starting the car to pull around and pick them up.

"Please, Claire."

Claire looked up at him, and her hand covered his where it was on her hip. In the darkness between the torches and the street lights, he couldn't quite see her eyes. But her hand was warm on his, and she leaned into his side. "We are," she agreed. "I think…" she paused, her voice wavering. "I think… you better mean that."

Leon squeezed her side. A relieved calm spread through him, overpowering the ache in his shoulder and the soreness he felt lingering. He was glad, this time, like in Harvardville, his assistance wouldn't have to be impressed upon her as it had once or twice when they were on missions with the other members of the Anti-Umbrella movement. He was happy, and that made him wonder about his mental state that he could be _happy _about something regarding an incident with zombies. To think that this time he wouldn't have to let her go away from him and only hope that she survived…

In Harvardville, it had almost made him crazy, pushing her off to safety he couldn't be certain of. The feeling was much stronger than when Claire left him with Sherry to go look for her brother. He knew it was stupid. Especially in Harvardville. She was good with a gun, well… she was injured. Running, forcing himself to move and to work had been the only thing that had kept him going until he had a stronger focus.

The taxi took them back to the hotel, but he kept his arm around her. Claire relaxed against him, shoulder tucked against his side, her head leaning on his collar bone in the dark back of the cab. She had asked when his lust had started… when… he wondered. He couldn't say it had crossed his mind on being close to her like that before she reached for him. Before she wanted to be close to him in that manner, though he cherished the idea of someone he could be so intimate with he did not always need words, he had thought very little of touching her so closely. The kisses, and her reactions to them, had been very unexpected.

He was opening the door to the hotel room when he realized that she wasn't shoulder to his side. Claire had shifted to put her arms around his middle, and was leaning her cheek against his collarbone. She was right when she said he was bad with women… he pushed the door open, eyes fixated on her. The way that her chest pressed into his side… the low cut of her dress showing the curve of her skin… She shifted her head a little, and her lips brushed against the bare skin of his neck. It sent a shiver through him.

The door was barely closed before she drew his head down to hers and their lips met. Something nagged him in the back of his mind. Something wasn't quite right. Claire… dear Claire, strong Claire…

Recently broken up Claire.

The acrid taste of that thought called Leon back to his overly-reserved senses. He pulled their lips apart. "I'm not a rebound."

"Leon," she said in an annoyed voice. "Neither am I." His eye twitched at that. She pressed her lips together. "Sex doesn't mean rebound."

He watched her. He felt her warmth against him. He smiled a little. "You do realize it's you and me in this hotel room for two weeks, right? Are you sure you want to now?" He slid his hand down her back, into the slinky dress she was wearing.

"Are you really offering to wait?" she asked softly.

"No, not really," he replied.

*


	16. 2:7

**RE: Inclination**

The Unabridged chapter 2-7.

A/N: On the advice of a reader who's read this version of 2:7, I'm posting it for everyone. So here's the un-abridged version of the smut chapter. By now, if you've already read the story, you know how far they get, so just enjoy the lengthier version of what you read in short. I'm still paranoid about the rating thing, but we'll stay at T+ and I'll just give you a half-page warning on the stuff.

Now back to the original A/N regarding this.

* * *

So… be warned. **There's smut in this chapter.** If you do not want to read smut, please skip this chapter.

I am serious. I will accept no flames regarding that you are about to read smut, as I am hereby FOREWARNING YOU OF THE IMPENDING SMUT.

As a matter of fact, there'd be slightly _more_ smut if not for ratings on this site.

So, now that we have the SMUT WARNING out of the way...

* * *

**May 2006**

Past the doorway. The lock was secure, she'd heard him slide it almost savagely into place, and she'd flipped the security bar over the protruding knob herself.

Claire had thought herself impatient for this, but Leon seemed moreso. As soon as the door was locked he turned her and pressed her back to it, lips pressed to hers tightly. She gripped his back tightly, pulled him close to her. It didn't matter that she was pressed to the door, or that he was holding her so tight, kissing her so firmly, that she could barely breathe. If this was the alternative, it was better not to breathe.

Leon's tongue slid into the kiss and Claire parted her teeth to take it into her mouth. His hands slid down her back, and Claire drew her arms from around him, getting them between them. She pushed him away, in the direction of the bed.

Absently, she noted that he didn't smirk or chuckle. She didn't notice with fuller attention because Leon didn't let her push him too far. His hand came up and he caught her wrists and pulled her into the room with him.

She was the one who chuckled. Her mind supplied an old comparison that she had all but forgotten. After Munich, when he sat as a silent guardian to her while she was recovering, she'd had the first of her thoughts about Leon being a watchdog. In Orkney, when he took the bullets to stop the other team members, she'd amended that thought, deciding Leon was a guard dog. It amused her to think of that, to poke fun at him in her head in a way that she couldn't fault him aloud. It helped to have something to think privately while she offered her support when he called her about girl problems. She used to laugh and wonder how Leon was with them… usually over a shot in a bar filled with smoke, or while lining up a shot at the pool table.

It was better than thinking about Leon as a lady's man. She knew he wasn't, but given free reign, her imagination could do terrible things. So she firmly kept the thought of Leon with other women as a stiff, defunct guard dog.

She wouldn't think about him with other women, anymore. It would just make her angry and jealous… especially if _this_ was how the guard dog made it with a woman.

The force of her push had been enough to take him (them, really, since he had caught hold of her) to the edge of the bed farthest from the window. The coverlet on top of it was still neatly folded from the maid service before they'd checked in. Still holding her wrists, Leon sat on the bed and dragged her up to him. Claire looked down at Leon, watching him quietly. He leaned his head forward. She expected him to…

But Leon surprised her.

He tipped his chin forward, and kissed the skin of her stomach through the fabric of her dress.

It sent a shiver through Claire. How did he _do_ that? No…

He slid arms around her waist and pulled her up onto her knees on the bed, straddling his lap. Leon's lips found hers again, and he slid a hand up to free her hair from the tie she had in it. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck as her hair fell down over her shoulders.

She knew Leon was strong. She'd seen him do some pretty acrobatic moves, and he wasn't what she'd call slight of frame. It was completely different feeling his hands on her. She trusted him, and the way he touched her felt like he knew it, or maybe it was that he trusted himself. His grip on her sides, the firm press of his fingers against her back, sliding against the material of the dress she was wearing…

Leon knew what he was doing, and how to do it.

The guard dog analogy was shattered in the wake of that.

Straddling him as she was, Claire couldn't help but feel him aroused beneath her. She broke the kiss and lowered her lips to his neck, just above the edge of one of the bandages. Leon made a low noise in his throat at that, and his grip tightened on her back a moment as he turned them over, putting Claire onto her back on the bed beneath him.

The motion shifted her dress a little, but Leon held her closer, lips finding hers again for a moment before drifting, just as his hands did, downward.

Claire leaned back into Leon's grip a little. His lips were on her neck, and his hand was down the back of her dress, the twist of his forearm sliding it off one of her shoulders. The bed held the two of them. His hand gripped the swell of her breast and she fumbled with her ankles trying to get her shoes off. Her hands tugged futilely at his t-shirt, and he freed her breast from the curve of the dress's neckline, urging it out of the cup of her bra. His lips lowered to it.

The warm wet of his mouth made her sigh. His hand stroked her hip under the skirt of her dress and he tugged her panties down. Silently she was glad they were on an island, this desperate fumbling between the two of them would just be made awkward by pantyhose she might have worn if they were in the states or a city. In the back of her mind she wondered if he had a condom handy, but his teeth nipped her breast and she had to bite her lip to stifle her moan. No sense letting him get full of himself.

"You're wearing too many clothes, Le-" she tried to get out. Leon chuckled a little, sliding her dress off her other shoulder and taking a moment to get her bra completely off. A blush came to her cheeks then, as he tossed the bra from them, not from that, but the motion of his other hand had shifted from tugging her panties down. They were just at her knees, and his hand slid back up the inside of her thigh.

"Too many clothes," she protested softly, head tipping back as his fingers parted her. How long had it been since anyone…? Of course there was Robert… but it had been almost a month since she'd been touched by anyone other than herself.

Leon paused then, as though he heard in her words what she really meant by saying that. His hand slid up her neck, and he shifted to kiss her lips. It was reassuring. Claire needed that. So much was strange about the whole situation. His arm slid around her, pulling her up against him. The fabric of his shirt felt smooth against her bare skin. Claire lifted her arms, wrapping them around him. Leon was stronger than the men that she had previously…

He kept his hand between her legs, despite the reassuring kisses he was giving her. "Why don't you help me with that, then," he said softly against her ear. His fingers were rubbing her, and she bit her lip gently.

"You're a jerk, Leon Scott Kennedy," she said with a soft chuckle. Claire didn't bother moving, preferring to stay against him as she was. His warmth radiated through his shirt, and a part of her needed to feel that almost desperately. She gripped him, fingers tightening in the back of his shirt, and pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Maybe," Leon said, voice still against her neck, lips behind her ear, "but you already knew that."

Whatever retort Claire might normally have had was lost in a soft moan. She couldn't control that anymore. The motion of Leon's hand between her legs was making her stomach tense and her whole body feel a little tingly. She could already feel herself dampening to his touch, body responding to the insistent press of his fingers. But he didn't stop just because of that.

"Just because it's not a rebound doesn't mean…" He rubbed his thumb against her, and lowered his lips back to her collar bone.

There was far too much talking, obviously. Leon… it was amazing, her lust-fogged mind could barely comprehend how he was managing to stress about meaning when… "_Don't _finish that sentence," Claire said, voice a bit higher than normal. "Not right now, don't."

Leon chuckled. In that chuckle, she could hear him relent from the thinking. He kissed under her ear. "Want me to keep doing that?" he asked softly. His voice was lower than she normally attributed it, the situation was coloring it, perhaps. It made her shiver wonderfully.

With a blush, she nodded. Playful was not one of the things she had anticipated from Leon. The thought of him being playful in any situation never occurred to her, but she hadn't previously been thinking about him in bed… Her hands slipped, and she gripped the front of his shirt as the motion of his hand began to produce a wetter noise from under the skirt of her dress. "You… better…"

He nipped her ear. "I'll get us both all the way undressed after this," he promised softly. He guided her arms back up around his neck and lowered his lips to her collarbone, kissing gently before working his way down.

Claire tipped her head back, embracing him, and pressed her fingertips to his back. There were scars there, some she knew about and had treated, and others that were foreign to her. She couldn't feel them through the cloth, but she knew some of them so well that she didn't need his bare skin to find them. She traced the ones she knew with her fingers, feeling his kisses dip lower. And then his shoulders were descending from her grip, and his head was under her skirt. Tongue replaced thumb, and he let his fingers keep moving. She arched her back at that. Leon shifted closer, and he gathered her knees up onto his shoulders. With nothing of him to grab, Claire clutched the comforter of the hotel bed. His tongue… his mouth… Leon's hands slid up her hips, curling around her waist and stroking her lower back.

This must have been what she was imagining him doing, what made her heart speed up, she thought for the briefest moment before the press of Leon against her was too much. Claire moaned out loud as he made her orgasm.

He continued the motion of his tongue after sliding his fingers from her. She moaned softly. His hands, one set of sticky fingers and the other just warm, slid her underwear free of her legs. He stroked her calves as he moved up to work her dress up her hips, and kissed her stomach.

It felt good. He _was_ good. A tense, anticipatory relaxation crawled up her the way that his fingers and his lips moved up her body. He worked the dress over her head, and sat back to shrug out of his shirt, working his arms free.

Drowsy eyes looked up at him, and she was surprised at some of the scars she found there, past the bandages that were new. He was undoing his belt when the knock to the door came. Claire turned her eyes towards it, but he tipped her chin back towards him. "Ignore it," he said softly.

Claire was willing to do that, more than. She nodded. He undid his belt and was working on unbuttoning his pants when the knock came again. Her eyes rolled and turned towards the door. "Who could it be… really?"

Leon frowned, looking down at her. He pressed a finger to her lips and climbed off of her and the bed, pulling the thin hotel comforter up and around her. As he headed to the door, she noticed him lean down to take a gun from his pant leg. She almost chuckled, thinking that he had been wearing that the whole time.

Then her eyes turned back to the door, and she felt relieved to think that he had it. Sitting up a little, she pulled the comforter around her, and scanned the room for where he'd left his gun holster before they went out to dinner.

"Who is it?" Leon asked, leaning next to the peep hole.

"Room service," a voice called through the door.

"I didn't order any room service," Leon replied.

"It says right here room twelve-oh-one," the voice called back. "Mr. Townland, please open the door already."

"This is twelve-oh-seven," Leon replied.

There was a muted curse through the door, and then the room service man said, "I'm sorry, sir, didn't mean to bother you."

Claire relaxed with a faint sigh. Leon turned to look at her, and she smiled with a little chuckle. His expression had changed. The mood was pretty much gone, she knew. His expression was serious and brooding again. He was back into work mode. He was tense, and she was…

Did the guy say _Townland_?

"I'm going to take a shower," Leon said. He pressed his hand against the door for a moment, as though debating something, but then he thumped his palm against the flat of the door before crossing to the bed. Claire looked up at him, surprised, and he jutted his hand forward with the gun in it. He flicked the safety on. "Take it."

"Leon…"

"Please," he said.

She nodded, taking the small gun in hand, and watched Leon head to the bathroom. She sat back on the bed with a small sigh and contemplated the weapon. She looked at the floor, where her dress from that evening was puddle. She noticed her underwear had made it farther away. Her body was tingling, her pulse still racing from… before. It wasn't fair, she growled in her head. Why the hell? Rising, she took the hotel robe off the shelf and wrapped herself in it before heading out onto the balcony outside the window.

The tropical air was muggy after the air-conditioned hotel room, but it felt good. The skin that was touched by the cool night breeze was sweating slightly. Claire closed her eyes and let the breeze play with the hair that Leon's hand had freed minutes earlier. She began taking deep breaths. She was old enough not to get too angry about…

Well, maybe not.

Oh, she knew Leon. She knew he was a dedicated detective, even if he was going by 'agent' or 'operative' now. She'd seen him switch from an easy companionable Leon into… Claire chuckled... into a lethal weapon.

It felt good to laugh like that, just like the feeling of his touch lingering on her felt good. Just like everything about the vacation.

And they had two weeks, right?


	17. 2:8

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Return.

* * *

**May 2006**

Once he'd calmed down a little, Leon started to use the water coming out of the shower head to wash the day off. He carefully peeled both of the bandages from his shoulders, leaning out of the shower enough to check the wounds before getting them wet. The bullet wound was, surprisingly, the less painful of the two. Leon wondered if he was a masochist. He liked the bullet wounds, at least. He hated bites.

The damn things were always painful for months, even once they healed over. At one point, sometime after he'd started working for DeKay, which meant it was probably in 2003 or 2004, he'd been briefed on the way that Daylight worked against the T-virus. It had been a lot of science talk, and Leon understood it, but they really shouldn't have been giving him that sort of a dissertation on the brilliance of the improvements on the vaccine while he was preparing for a mission. It was only with careful review afterwards that he truly took the time to understand what Daylight did.

It was complicated, scientific, and he didn't think about that sort of information much except when he was trying to not think about something else. Like the virus it had two affects. The first was what Leon was undergoing currently, or what he was finishing from his Norway vaccination in April, was a halt to the progress of the virus's infection. Usually Leon associated this part with being somewhat lethargic, light-sensitive, and stiff.

Thankfully, all that was wearing off. It was part of the reason he'd arranged to come to Milena. He'd always liked the idea of Micronesia, even though he never visited before. The warm and the sun weren't bothering him nearly as much as he'd anticipated, which means he must be moving into the second portion.

After halting the progression of the infection, the vaccine, almost like another virus, broke down the remnants of the virus in all the places a thing like that hid. In earlier versions of the vaccine, apparently, the cleaning done did not sweep through the tendons and joints. There had even been a few cases of eventual reversion to infection.

Leon did not like the way they termed it. Reversion.

It couldn't be the same Townland, the lighter tone of Leon's mental voice thought. He frowned as the shower water cascaded over him. Hearing that name, on top of the plane that buzzed the island during dinner… the coincidences had killed the part of him that was luxurious enough to desire Claire's body in the way he always desired her companionship otherwise.

The name wasn't so common though. Townland. If it was Demetri Townland, they would be leaving the hotel, if not the island altogether. Leon didn't want Claire within a thousand miles of that man. She had rotten luck when it came to outbreaks, even though he seemed to have worse luck with infections. It was hard to gauge his luck in regards to outbreaks. He went willingly into them. It was Leon's job, but Townland was… dangerous. And dangerous things seemed to happen around him.

If this ruined the vacation… _their_ vacation…

Leon frowned, turning off the shower. Toweling off, he paused to take care of his bandaged areas. The stitches in his left shoulder looked annoyed, but still healthy. The bite mark… Leon pressed it with a finger, and it throbbed. With a sigh, he headed out of the polished marble shower area into the main area of the bathroom, finding a towel and drying off. He sucked in a breath and took a look around before he realized he'd retreated to the bathroom without bringing new bandages with him.

Accepting his own lack of foresight in the face of aggravation and shock, Leon left the bathroom and headed into the main room. He was unsurprised to find Claire was out on the balcony. "Are you done with the shower?" she called into the room. "I'll use it then."

He nodded, and she headed in towards the shower, as though she could sense his answer without needing to see it. He took the hotel phone in hand, tied the towel at his waist, and then thought better of that. He went to his suitcase and put on a decent pair of pants. He dialed the front desk while he listened to Claire in the shower, and put on his shoulder holster. It made him feel better.

While he waited for the phone to pick up, he scooped the necessary medical supplies from his bag and sat to begin administering to himself.

"Front desk," a cheerful woman's voice said.

"This is the guest in room twelve-oh-seven. I just had a room service delivery I didn't order, and-"

"We're terribly sorry about that, sir, we'll do our best to keep it from happening again-"

"The hotel worker who delivered it said it was for Mr. Townland. Would that be a Mr. Demetri Townland?"

There was silence on the line, and then the noise of transfer. That was odd. It had been years since Leon had heard that noise on any phone line outside of ones that were being tapped. Leon lifted his eyebrows at that, but waited it out. Another voice picked up the line. "I believe you were inquiring after another of our guests, sir?"

"I don't believe I was talking to you about it," Leon replied.

"We consider the matter of each individual guest's privacy to be our utmost concern, and while we appreciate your interest, we are unable to answer your request."

"Well then, I appreciate your time." Leon hung up the phone and went for his cell phone. If anyone knew something, it would be Ingrid Hunnigan. The phone rang once, and it was answered. The door to the bathroom opened, and Claire came out, toweling her hair. "Hunnigan, I need you to check something for me."

"Leon, you're supposed to be on vacation."

"I'd _like_ to be on vacation, for once," he said, watching Claire as she headed to her suitcase. She was ignoring him.

He noticed.

"That's a change from normal. What happened? So you _did_ finally get some decent company?"

"You could say that," Leon said. "Find the current whereabouts of Demetri Townland."

"Townland? That's a name I haven't heard in a few months. What brings him up? Are you after a revenge match for the newest scars?"

Leon found his eyes drawn to Claire on the far side of the room. She didn't turn his way, but her actions weren't the least bit self-conscious. "Room service. Call me back when you've got something." He hung up the phone. "Claire… we may have to relocate."

"You don't like the room?" Claire was pulling on a pair of shorts with her back to him. She shrugged out of the robe and looked for her t-shirt to pull on.

His eyes watched her motion, and he felt the usual calm spread into him that came from watching her. It was a newfound feeling, but he liked it. "It's not that, the room is as good as the company, if we have one too many beds in it." She snorted at that. "But Townland…"

"Worry about it tomorrow, Leon," Claire said, tugging back the undisturbed covers on the other bed. She sat down and slid her legs between the sheets. "Do me a favor? If you're going to be up long, sleep in the other bed."

"And if I'm not?" Leon asked, arching a brow slightly. The phone was hung up. He didn't want to sleep in an empty bed, given an option, especially this one. He wondered if the feeling of calm would intensify the closer he got to her.

"Then don't plan to get up to answer your phone."

"I think I can do that," Leon said. He put the phone's profile on vibrate and stepped across the room. Undoing his pants again, he slid into the sheets behind her, putting an arm around her waist.

Claire shifted a little at that, settling into him. Leon hadn't quite finished with bandaging himself, and her hair pressed against the mark on his shoulder. He bit back the hiss that threatened.

Leon waited for her reaction. For a flash of annoyance.

"You didn't finish bandaging up." It was a statement rather than a question. "Do you want me to…"

He hadn't thought about that.

"I mean I know you think I'm pretty terrible at bandaging you up…"

"I'd like it if you did."


	18. 2:9

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Return, again. There's been a lot of… heavy lately. I apologize for the delay between postings. Thank you all for sticking with the story.

**

* * *

May 2006**

The phone _had_ rung in the night, but Claire noticed it only in passing before falling back asleep. Leon didn't move to answer it, just like he promised. Claire slept deeper like that, even after the small aside that they had taken before really getting into bed to get Leon's bandages finished.

Of course that had the potential of being comical, as Leon apparently had decided to sleep commando. Claire had no complaints. She tried to keep her ogling from being _too_ obvious. Leon hadn't bothered to comment, but had sat down, like a good patient, and kept his eyes closed while she worked.

In bed, Leon's arm was warm, and she was surprised at how comforting it was to have someone next to her like that. She hadn't expected to sleep so rock-like. Normally she felt suffocated. Once or twice it had made her take the knife back to bed with her. One of those times, she'd actually needed it, for non-zombie reasons. The morning sunlight broke through clouds, and it was that light that roused her. Neither of them had drawn the shades over the window, and Leon was turned slightly, head tipped back on the pillow.

His hand was tucked under her arm, palm against her rib cage. His thumb was pressing into the underside of her breast. It was familiar, and very intimate. She was surprised at how little she minded it. The previous evening, he could have done a lot of things and she wouldn't have minded at all. Maybe he still could.

Even asleep Leon was quiet. He shifted, when she did, and she could somehow tell he was already awake by the time he settled against her.

"Hungry?" she asked softly.

"Horny, maybe," Leon said softly. "But breakfast is definitely in order."

"At least he's honest," she replied. Claire pushed Leon's arm off and got out of bed.

"First thing in the morning isn't your idea of a good time, then?" Leon asked, turning to look at her.

"You don't know the first thing about my idea of a good time," Claire replied, shaking her head. She gathered her hair in her hands and searched for a tie to pull it back. "Let me get dressed, then we can go down and have breakfast."

"I need to check my phone."

Claire flapped a hand at him, shaking her head as she headed into the bathroom. Of course he had to check his phone, he smelled danger. She splashed some water on her face and rethought skipping another shower. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Some of the dark circles were missing from under her eyes, she thought, she looked… A sharp rap on the door brought her back to the present. "Claire, I was right about last night, we need to go."

Jerking the door open, she frowned. "Why?"

"The man in twelve-oh-one _is_ Demetri Townland." Leon's face was unimpressed, displeased. He was frowning, and he was dressed. Past him Claire could see that his suitcase was closed and packed, and he wasn't wearing his jacket, so she saw he was wearing his holster.

The name confounded Claire. It had been on the news a few months ago… six, maybe seven. Demetri Townland was connected to the most recent biohazard incidents in London and Tel Aviv. Not on the side of Umbrella's former researchers, but… still very suspicious. He'd been giving talks when they happened, so it couldn't be directly linked, but…

"There have been three outbreaks since he went under, all linked to locations involving Townland. If he's in paradise, I say you and I go to purgatory to avoid him."

Claire shivered at the thought.

Leon reached out and he took her by the arms. "I know, I really do, Claire. But change and pack. We'll take the next flight."

"See if I _ever_ come on vacation with you again," Claire said, angrily. She crossed to where he had pulled her suitcase onto the bed and grabbed clothes to change into.

"I'll just have to find some other way to convince you to come with me… if you didn't enjoy last night."

"The half of it we had, you mean?" She was rewarded for her quip by seeing him wince. "It's not that, I just…"

"You can trust me, Claire."

Shirt stripped off her head, Claire hooked her bra closed behind her back, and turned to look at him. "I've always trusted you, Leon. I just don't… I… I don't want you to turn out like Chris."

His face registered surprise at her accusation. "Like your brother? What do you mean?"

"He's gone all the time," she said, turning back to her suitcase. It had taken years and a lot of what she would consider bullshit therapists talk with various parties that knew both Redfields to come to that conclusion. It was hard to admit it aloud. Most of the time she pressed the thoughts down. She didn't need to think them. Not now, especially. Pants, she needed pants. Shorts, skirts, and heels were out of the question. A pair of jeans presented themselves, and she took them out, stripping out of her sleep shorts to put them on.

Leon was silent a long time, without a word to say on that.

But apparently the words wanted out of her. "I never know where he is, and then when I look for him I always end up… all these horrible things happen, and…"

"And you want to protect your brother, but he fights all the time." Leon's voice came from behind her, and she fastened her jeans without saying a word. This wasn't the way that she wanted Leon. She knew better, didn't she? She knew what Chris was capable of. What _Leon_ was capable of. She shouldn't even be thinking about Leon like that… he was different than Chris, so much different, he was the wrong type to…

Two strong hands closed on her arms from behind. Bare as they were, the warmth of Leon's touch sank into her skin. An excited flutter affected her heartbeat, but after that passed, the warmth on her… the strength of his hands was reassuring. "Claire, you can only protect the people who let you. Some people you have to accept only being able to provide assistance to." She felt the warmth in them, the care. "Your brother and I had to learn to suppress the fear that comes with the outbreaks. With the confinement."

"You want me to be like you two?" Claire asked softly. She resisted the urge to let her head hang forward. It was seductive, the feeling that she could just do what she was told. Sometimes, like this one, she felt it would be easy to follow. To be weak and let someone hold her up. Not that she really thought that cutting herself off from her normal reactions would be _weak_. No, in contrast, it would probably be very difficult.

"I want you to be _with_ me," Leon said, tightening his grip and pulled her back against him. "However you are." Leon's arms wrapped around her and he pulled her back against his chest. It felt good.

In that instant the questioning she was doing in her mind went away. Leon wasn't offering to let her be weak. He wasn't suggesting something like that. He wasn't the type to, not to her. "You keep saying exactly what I need to hear. It's so annoying."

"You'll get used to it," Leon said. "Maybe at some point you'll actually listen to what I tell you."

She laughed, softly.

Leon kissed her neck gently. "Now put on a shirt before I take advantage of you."

Dressing took a moment. Shirt, socks, shoes, and she was ready. Claire contemplated her suitcase, and Leon stood beside her. "Leave the suitcase," he said. "Too much will slow us down."

She turned to look at him. "This is my stuff, Leon."

"You won't need clothing for the rest of the vacation." Claire punched him in the arm. "What I meant was… I'll replace anything you leave behind."

She rolled her eyes and opened her suitcase, reaching for a small bundle in a toiletries bag. She transferred the toiletries bag to her carry-on satchel, along with a few items of more functional clothing. She snagged a sweatshirt and tied it around her waist, then a pair of sunglasses. She hefted the bag. "Alright, let's go."

"Take this."

Claire turned to look at Leon, and he held a gun out to her. She nodded, quietly, and tucked it into the back of her pants, covering it with the sweatshirt. "And airport security?" Come to think of it, she had no idea how Leon had managed to get guns through airport security to begin with. There had been some exchange of paperwork of some sort, but that was about all she had noticed before they'd headed straight into the terminal.

"We'll handle them when we get there," Leon said. "Come on."

The island seemed normal, as they took the taxi to the airport. The beaches were full, the streets had market sellers as well as tourists. But the two of them, seated in the back of the taxi, were quiet. The mood was darker than when they climbed aboard the plane. This, Claire thought, was why she and Leon S. Kennedy had absolutely no business vacationing together. It was why they had no business being together.

The thought made her chest hurt a little.

Claire chanced a look at him, and Leon was sitting, calm and relaxed, with his head looking over the seat in front of him. That last thought fled her mind, his image soothing her frazzled nerves. The pain went from a stab to a throb as she tried to reason with herself. It couldn't be so wrong, being with him, could it? It wasn't his fault the world was screwed up. The driver was just as quiet as Leon. It was annoying to be the only person who was so on edge. She drummed her fingers against the seat, tensing and looking out the window. Leon grasped her hand. She turned to look at him, but the same empty expression was on his face.

Twice the two of them had been working parallel in the same outbreak situation, almost without seeing one another's reactions. How many times had they been on different missions than that? She couldn't recall, but he had different training that she was not privy to, his expressions in this sort of situation were schooled. She didn't know what this expression of Leon's meant, even though she could read so many of them so easily. She didn't know what he was like in this case.

Maybe this look was what Leon anticipating things looked like. Maybe this was him focusing in preparation…

Her wondering occupied the space between the beach and the curve of road that headed up to the airport. At the airport, Leon released her hand and climbed out, rounded the car and opened her door. He waited for her to climb out before taking her hand again and heading for the terminal. Claire breathed a sigh of relief. They would soon be out of the danger zone. She threaded her fingers through his.

Leon led the way inside, up to the ticket counter. Claire let herself hang back slightly, standing just behind him while still holding his hand. She let her free hand grip the strap of her carry-on rather than putting it on her hip, as she might have otherwise. Too much adjusting and the gun would show. Claire listened around them for strange noises, for anything that would remind her of what she'd seen before. Of Raccoon City, the moaning and the scraping of feet. The terminal was filled with sounds, as before. Light came in through the windowed walls, even through the protective film she could tell was lining the windows. Just as it all had in Harvardville. There were people talking, and the noise of footsteps on the high ceilings. It bounced off the glass and came back at her. Her ears filtered out most everything, but the voice of the counter worker caught her when nothing else presented itself.

"I'm sorry, sir," the counter attendant said. "The outgoing flights are booked for the day. There's a few single, separate seats available on different airlines, but they have distant destinations. We can get you out tomorrow, unless the two of you would like to fly separately today."

Without looking back at her, Leon answered, and she knew it had something to do with their discussion previously, with what he'd said about… "We fly together."

He must feel the same, at least in regards to being separated. Thankfully, she could count on that much, at least. Her thoughts blocked out the response of the counter attendant. Her thoughts and the increased noise in the terminal as a group headed through the area from the baggage claim.

"We'll be back in the morning. Two seats on the first flight to Sydney." Leon exchanged some credit card information with the woman, and then he was leading Claire away. She let the airport pass away from her, taking its sounds with it, and kept herself close as he shouldered their way through the recently disembarked passengers pressed towards the door that would lead them out to the taxis.

"Sorry about that," Leon said. His voice was a rumble. He was displeased, she could tell. His hand held hers, and the grip of his fingers was strong and warm. It was a pleasant sensation. His hands weren't sweaty or weak. No, she thought to herself, remembering the previous evening, his hands weren't weak at all. She had never thought that a simple thing like that would be enough to calm her down the way it was. Leon would feel distant, she realized, if it weren't for the grip he had on her hand. She almost frowned. It was a little annoying that he was so good at calming her down. Was everything this easy for Kennedy?

No, it couldn't be. There was a tension in his back she could see as they moved slowly through the sea of people towards the door that had been absent previously. He was annoyed by something, or brought down from it. It was almost like there were storm clouds over him.

"You don't run the airlines, Leon," Claire replied, trying to feel chipper, given the circumstances. It wasn't hard. Maybe it would lighten the mood. That would be nice.

The two of them came to a stop on the inside of the exit, the glass doors before them were open and letting the warmth of the morning on the island into the airport. Jets of cool air tried to fight the heat, but the sun and the sand were making it too much. The perpetual summer of the island greeted Claire and she tried to get forward so she could make it out into the sun. The sounds were all normal. The tourists were all normal… the island would be gone the next day, and that had to be good enough just then. Claire figured she could let it be good enough, since Leon was doing so well at being nice. She started to push past Leon to lead the way outside.

Leon tightened his hand in hers and pulled her back, pressing their lips together. She was surprised, but at the same time relieved at the feel of the kiss. It was the same as the night before. No matter what anger he felt or what anxiety or preparedness, the taste of his kiss was the same. His desire for her, for closeness, was still there.

And it made her a little weak in the knees.

Nearby, a couple of teenagers giggled loudly and whistled.

Claire struggled not to blush, and failed. It was useless, really. Her body was becoming more and more attuned to Leon.

Leon seemed to manage whatever reaction he had to the lobby audience's enthusiasm better. He pulled back, brushing her cheek with his fingers, and said, "Let's go."

"What _are_ we going to do with ourselves?"

"Maybe order our own room service tonight," Leon offered with a wink. He steered Claire out of the press of incoming travelers and down a sidewalk.

*


	19. 2:10

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Back closer to schedule. Thank you to everyone for the reviews. I appreciate them.

Remember, this is a Resident Evil story. Expect things to be somewhat more... Resident Evil-ly... or for there to be more Evil Resident in the character lineups.

* * *

**May 2006**

The day was a lot like what he had expected this vacation with Claire to be. Possibly slightly tamer than parts of his imagining, but it was good to be with her. Stupid couple things they had done that day stuck in his mind. Holding hands with her as they walked… the scooter they'd rented… the roadside stand with the overpriced drinks in what appeared to be recycled coconuts.

Ok, so the coconut drinks had been a little questionable, but the walk on the beach had made up for it. Perhaps a little too much sun, as Leon felt a craving for some sort of a sports' drink, but it was good. Claire, in the pair of jean shorts she had been wearing, even managed to get him to play a little in the saltwater surf.

All in all a much more pleasant day, and another full meal to the credit of his recovery, and Leon felt better. Claire _had _donned her bathing suit to get some sun on their balcony after they returned from the beach walk after lunch, but by that time Leon's survival self hadn't felt quite safe leaving the hotel room as the afternoon lengthened into shadow. It was almost as though washing the salt off their legs from the beach had returned the weight of the moment, the severity of their forthcoming departure, and the reasons for it.

Leon had joined her on the balcony, but spent most of the time standing and trying not to watch her scantily clad body on the lounge chair. She kept the gun handy as she had all day. While she was lying on the chair with her legs propped on the railing of the balcony, the Glock sat on the stones beside where she reclined. Leon's efforts to relax had mostly succeeded, but the tension in him, the alertness, prevented anything else from crossing his mind. Claire noticed, but didn't say anything more than an amused, "And here I put it on just for you," before she went to change.

As the sun sank outside the windows, the two of them watched television, ordering room service for dinner. He couldn't say what he ordered, but he ate it.

They lingered in awkward silence after the meal, both sitting on one of the beds and staring at the images on the television. Finally Claire turned it off. "We may as well sleep," she announced.

Leon couldn't argue about that. They would need rest for the trip in the morning, but…

Claire got up off the bed and looked over at him. "…will… will you indulge me something?"

Looking up at her, Leon saw an expression he'd seen before. It had been nearly eight years, of course, but he'd seen the look. Claire looked apprehensive. Nervous. Wary. There were a lot of adjectives he could use for it, but none of them seemed exactly appropriate. What did she look like?

"Of course."

Her question, actually, was a good clue to the right one. Before, when she looked like that, it was after Raccoon City. Running with Sherry… Leon pressed his lips together as he rose from his seat on the bed. Running afterwards, one of their precautions had been to push one of the pieces of furniture in front of the door.

His mind supplied their reasoning at the time, in a cold tone that he felt was his internal survivor. Zombies were much more dangerous if they burst through a door at you than if they were trying to reach through a window. Together they pushed the wardrobe in front of the door. Without the noise of the television, the noise of music from outside drifted softly through their windows, and the sounds of a small crowd.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," Claire said, heading for the bathroom.

Nodding, Leon allowed her to retreat.

Whatever romantic thoughts had been in his head twenty-four hours prior were gone. Laying down, Leon listened to the noise of Claire in the bathroom and the music and crowd from outside. No one out there seemed to know there was danger. Or if they knew, they didn't care. Heavy thoughts threatened his head, and Leon reached over to turn off the light beside the bed he was laying in, undoing the belt on his shorts and shrugging out of the tropical shirt he had on. He dumped both items on the floor beside the bed and settled in, trying to get comfortable.

Claire didn't even move to change clothes into pajamas, he noticed absently. Didn't change clothes, or take the gun out of the back of her jean shorts. She crossed to the bed he was on and got onto her knees on the mattress. In the mostly dark of the hotel room, Leon looked up at her as she pulled the tie out of her hair. A smile came to his lips, unbidden.

"Or should I sleep by myself?" she asked softly as she leaned down next to him.

"Like I'd let you," he replied, wrapping an arm around her, making himself comfortable. His hand rested against the small of her back, the gun tucked into her pants a welcome piece of safety.

Claire pulled his arm tighter around her, and the two of them pretended to rest. Leon didn't think he would be able to get any sleep, but despite himself, he both dozed. The situation, the tension, and the heat were too much of a reason to give in to sleep, especially given Claire against him as she was, and the soothing constant of the music and crowd outside coming in softly through the windows at the balcony.

It was late when the music outside died down. Common of a beachfront area, but not the dead silence that followed it. The music kept playing, but the voices went away. The change woke Leon from his doze. The lack of the familiar noise that had soothed him to slumber.

In the orchestrated silence, the first screams were barely audible. Somehow, Claire had managed to fall asleep. The noise, muffled by the closed door on the balcony, turned wakefulness into alertness for Leon. Wincing slightly, Leon slid away from Claire, carefully letting her body rest against the mattress, and went to the balcony. The door slid open easily, and he felt the sinking feeling in his stomach as he stepped out into the warm night air.

Leon slid the door onto the balcony shut quickly, hoping to keep the mounting noise from his sleeping companion's ears. As soon as he was out in the air he could hear clearly over the music what was happening below. This was the part he usually managed to miss.

In Raccoon he had simply missed this part, in Harvardville, he was rescue, he was clean up. Here, it seemed, he would play the role of witness. He would be victim or survivor. He pressed his lips together, glancing over his shoulder at the room behind him. Claire, sleeping on the bed. After a moment, when he felt the fierce protectiveness well in him, he turned his eyes back to the scene below. People were running. The spread of the infection seemed obvious, like a drop of ink spreading through a water glass. One hand went to his gun, but there was nothing to be done from this distance. His bullets would be wasted, useless, if he fired them down into the crowd.

Leon couldn't say why, but he made himself watch. The whole of it, until the street was empty of more than blood stained corpses of the ones who had been too eaten or fallen the wrong way to turn. It was as though the night had been draining the living from the island. Which would be fine, if not for the moon. In the silvery blue light, the blood stood out starkly on the pale sand. Dark splotches on the white, highlighted by mounds squirming or so still they must be in nothing more than parts. In his mind, Leon went over their options, and scanned the horizon.

He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, but he could hear when Claire came to join him. She stood beside him, and trembled.

"Just once, I'd like to go to an island I don't have to fight my way off of," she muttered. Leon let the corner of his mouth lift, and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him.

"I really wasn't planning on missing any more work for rehab."

"You _work_?"

He didn't offer any serious response to that. It wasn't a statement that required one. "There's bound to be a police station somewhere in the vicinity. We can restock our ammunition there."

"But what's the way out? The airport will be crawling with them. They always are. Last time I checked, neither of us can fly a jet."

"Not without fuel, anyway," he replied.

"Besides, I want to be able to stomach an airport in the next six months."

Leon lifted a hand, pointing to the dock on the opposite corner of the island, barely visible from their balcony on the hotel. "We'll go by boat, of course."

Claire nodded. He liked that about her. Not that she agreed with him, but instead that she accepted what had to be done. She'd been doing it for years. In a way, it was really the reverse. He'd been working with her long enough to find the same answer that she would in a situation. "First light, we'll head down."

"So a fog can roll in? So they can see us better?" she shook her head. "Let's go now."

Leon shrugged. "We could go now, if you like," Leon offered. "But I see better in daylight than darkness, even with a laser sight on my weapon, which I don't have."

"Fine, jerk, we'll have it your way."

Leon squeezed her shoulders. This was what he liked about Chris, too. Not in the same way, or for the same reasons, but it was similar. Attack things head on until they're over. It was also a problem with the two siblings, but it was a better problem than the alternative of cowardice. In a way, he was glad that Claire had no particular training in the area. It would make her dangerous in a fighting situation, the way that Chris could be at times. Too confident.

"Pick a good pair of shoes, and get something with short sleeves," he said to her. "We're going to be running a lot, in the sun, and even though you redheads burn like bad chicken it's better than dehydration."

"Har, har, har," Claire replied, pushing at his shoulder. "Worry about yourself, convalescent."

Silently, he asked the night outside for some assurance that this time would be routine. That there would be nothing abnormal, that he and Claire would survive, uninfected. The dark, starless sky had no answer for him.

They waited.

The night, after that, seemed endless. Neither of them could rest, but neither were inclined to anything else. Energy, Leon knew, would need to be conserved. There was a struggle ahead. Thankfully Claire knew what she was doing. Thankfully Claire was good at this. It made her indispensable, and comfortable, and terribly dear to him.

It was before the sun began to rise that they both seemingly couldn't handle the stillness any longer. Claire rose from the bed and changed her shorts to jeans and then her shoes, pulling on a pair of boots that was in the suitcase she hadn't been allowed to take with her when they went to the airport.

"It's light enough," Claire asked as she moved, "isn't it?"

"Better than sitting in here on our hands."

Leon rose as well, checking the clip of his gun, and securing his spares. He pulled on his leather jacket. He got out the spare clip for the Glock he had handed to Claire, and lamented that he only had one. Claire was tucking something into the back of her jeans, and when she finished she turned to look at Leon.

Straightening his jacket on his shoulders, he nodded to his reflection and glanced at her to be certain she was ready. Claire nodded, gun at the ready. Leon shouldered the wardrobe from the door. He pressed his ear to it, and heard nothing immediate. He nodded, pulling back to hold his gun in one hand as he flipped the safety latch from the door. Then the lock.

Pulling the door open, he stepped quickly out into the hall, checking both ways. When he saw it was clear, he motioned. Claire followed him out and the two of them moved, as one, down the hall towards the stairwell.

A part of his mind thought that maybe there were others holed up in their hotel rooms. He glanced at his companion, and she looked back at him, confused. The thought hadn't crossed her mind. Yet. Quietly, he knocked on one door. Claire's expression cleared in realization. She hadn't thought of that either.

There was no answer.

"Check the other doors?" Claire asked him quietly. The two of them paused, sighting down the hall in different directions with their weapons.

"We may not like what we find," Leon reasoned back. "You decide."

Claire bit her lip, and Leon knew what was passing through her head as she did so. It was the same things that were passing through his. Compassion, concern. Survival. He knew what his answer was, but he wanted her to be able to live with herself, and hopefully _with him _after this. This floor would be relatively free of the infected, considering how poor they did on stairs. It was alright to check for other guests, this high up. It was one thing, though, to try, and another to get yourself killed while trying.

"Let's check this floor," she said. "Stair's on that end, let's do this side first."

Leon nodded in response. Her tone said things her words didn't. She was a little scared, despite the choice she'd made. He adjusted his grip on his H&K and motioned with his head. Claire fell into step with him, spreading herself to the far side of the hall, and turned so she was walking slowly backwards, covering their rear. It was a tactic she'd mirrored from watching Jill back up Chris during their Anti-Umbrella days.

One by one, they checked the doors. Most were locked, no response. One was slightly ajar. Leon ducked inside, and found only the curtains flapping in the breeze. Jumper, he thought to himself, without mentioning it to Claire. Another had someone who only screamed. The noise of the screaming was loud, and in the otherwise silent hallway, it was a deafening racket. The sound carried down the hallway past the pair.

Claire winced at that, moving more quickly to the next door.

"SHUT UP THAT SCREAMING!" the person in the next room crowed before they could knock. "I'd rather die in peace than that… than that… cut the racket, racket, racket."

Leon's eyebrows lifted slightly in response to that. Someone sane, barricaded in? He glanced at Claire, and she tipped her head to the number on the door. Well, given the speech pattern, mostly sane.

Shining letters proclaimed that the room was 1201.

An angry burning sparked in Leon. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, and his muscles tensed around it. He stared hard at the numbers on the door.

"I want to know why," Leon said softly. Claire nodded, and shifted to stand behind him, gun pointed at the door. Swinging around, Leon kicked the door in.

"Not exactly a voice I care to forget, Townland. Long time no see."

The man who was cowering inside stumbled back from the entrance as Leon advanced, holding his gun aloft and staring down the barrel of it. "… Kennedy? You're dead… you're all dead, in the mountains…"

"Why is this happening here?" Leon growled.

*


	20. 2:11

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Oh the comics…

* * *

**May 2006**

In room 1201, Leon was talking with Townland. Claire shifted so that her back was pressed to the wall next to the doorframe, and tried to slow the race of her pulse. The steady thrum of it seemed to reverberate through her chest. It would not do to be distracted, and that sort of physical thing could be distracting. She kept her eyes on the hallway, watching. Leon could be trusted to make the room secure. And Townland… Townland was a survivor. He was _always_ a survivor, but it didn't make him a desirable companion in survival. If it came down to it, she would rather she and Leon survived the island… a terrible sentiment, perhaps, but an honest one. She would rather make it off safe and sound than help the cause of the outbreak move to another carefree locale.

Her thoughts were heavy, and loud in her head. She was barely listening to what was being said. At first their voices were low, but then Townland's raised. "It's a protest! A protest against one of the survivors telling the truth! The government doesn't want to admit that Raccoon City was a mistake… your people hound me wherever I go, and then… and then _they_ show up. I've been running for years. I tried using different names, tried…"

Even to Claire it sounded fake. There was a growl that she was certain must be coming from Leon… "Don't give me that bull." _He_ wasn't yelling. But it did sound like Leon was taking this fairly personal.

There was the noise of a blow.

Claire winced a little at that.

"They come by plane," Townland's whimpering voice said, slightly muffled. Claire wondered if he was holding a hand to the part of his face that Leon had hit, or if Leon had punched him in the gut. "They always come by plane. I can't take planes anymore. And now _you've opened the door to me!_"

Townland must have lunged at Leon, Claire reasoned, because Leon came staggering back into the hallway with the man gripping the straps of his shoulder holster. "You can't leave me like this!"

The cool demeanor that Claire had come to associate with Leon's ability to process this sort of a situation was firmly in place, despite almost grappling with the stranger in the hotel hallway. He gripped Townland by the forearms and narrowed his eyes at him.

"That's entirely up to her," Leon said. He didn't use her name. Claire was puzzled at that. Maybe he didn't want anyone to know… or maybe he was just being cautious.

Townland's head snapped around, his eyes shifted and they latched on Claire. His hands released Leon's straps. The way he was looking at her made her distinctly uncomfortable. His eyes… they were so similar to the eyes of an infected… of a zombie. He started to lurch towards her, and as he did his smell wafted in her direction. It was strange. Too strong, like he'd bathed in whatever he was scented with. Claire leaned away, but Leon grabbed Townland and threw him across the hall. Townland hit the wall next to the door opposite his and fell to the floor.

The puzzle pieces snapped together. Things she had just noticed, reports she'd heard previously. Leon's eyes were trained on the man slumped against the door. Claire glanced at him, and then back down to the Brit that he'd thrown like a feather pillow. "He looks infected," Claire said, following Leon's lead and training her gun on him.

"He always has," Leon replied.

Claire tilted her blue eyes to Leon when he said that. She was curious, then. "_Is_ he infected?"

"Of course I'm not infected! Just don't leave me here!" Townland snapped, righting himself so he was propped with a bit more dignity against the wall. He didn't make a move towards either of them, glancing warily between the guns they were pointing at him.

Leon's glanced at Claire, a questioning look in his eye. It was easy to read what he was asking. _Should we take him with us?_ She knew it was that question because there was a tension to his upper lip that she always associated with him knowing he wouldn't like the answer he got. And he wouldn't, especially this time. If Townland wasn't infected… even if Claire would rather the two of them got out safely… if he wasn't _that_ kind of threat…

Claire nodded.

"Fine," Leon said, though his voice sounded somewhat sour to Claire's knowing ears, "but if you start screaming hysterically, I'm shooting you _myself_."

Unsure if he truly meant that or not, Claire cleared her throat and motioned with her head back down the hall towards the end that had the stairwell in it. One survivor or none, they still had to check the other half of the hallway on the way out. Leon nodded, and started moving forward. Townland scrambled to his feet. Claire made sure to keep the man in her peripheral vision as she kept her gun sighted behind them.

"Do I get a gun?" the man asked.

When he wasn't babbling, Claire thought, his accent was more apparent. It wasn't the warm sort of accent one might associate with a famous comedian or a dashing movie character, but rather the pinched voice of a snooty professor mixed with a smokers' rasp… or maybe something else… a threatening cough? Either way, Claire's mind could come up with much better British people to be listening to.

"No chance," Leon replied. Claire glanced sidelong at him, choosing to wonder what Leon would sound like with a British accent rather than pay attention to Townland's words.

The bank of elevators was situated in the middle of the floor, mirroring the centralized placement in the lobby, and they were nearing them. Townland kept asking questions, his voice a straining loud whisper that Claire ignored to keep the guttural hiss from making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

At least he was taking Leon's words seriously. As the three of them were passing the elevators, the man stopped talking altogether. He stopped moving. Claire, facing backwards, noticed it first.

"Hey," Claire said, calling to stop Leon's progress. If he hadn't used her name… she hadn't heard him tell his name to Townland either. Not that it would matter, if the man lived through this and wanted to identify Leon, the facial scar would do that quicker than a last name.

Leon paused and glanced behind them at Townland. "What are you doing? Hurry up."

"The indicator light… it's coming up."

Claire made a move for Townland, to grab him, to pull him along, to do _anything_. She could guess what would come out of the elevator. Some poor person had gotten trapped in it with one of the infected, and…

Townland… according to what she'd read, anyway, had no reason to be fascinated by a situation like this. Townland had been in situations like this one before, he'd seen this sort of thing. Hadn't he _worked_ for Umbrella? What was so damned fascinating now?

Leon was just behind her. She was almost to Townland when the chime announced the elevator. The doors opened, and the stench proceeded the infected, but only by a moment. Intent on Townland, Claire darted forward to grab him by the collar.

The sticky scent of the infected quickly filled the wide section of the hall around the bank of elevators, and Claire was glad there had been no breakfast for her. It always made her nauseous, that scent.

Behind her she could hear two shots as Leon took care of the zombies that were issuing from the elevator. Townland was shaking and laughing manically. He was muttering between his laughter, and it was only audible to Claire as she took him by the collar.

"…they can't see it… they can't… if they get too close… ha ha haahaaahaa… none of them will…"

"Look out!" Leon shouted. "The other elevator!"

Staring at Townland, Claire ignored Leon's shout for the moment. She gripped Townland's shirt and gave him a shake. "We can't see _what_?"

There was another ding. The second elevator arrived. Turning her head slightly, Claire saw the doors sliding open. She shoved Townland back and turned to point her gun at the opening metal doors. The first of noise out of the elevator was a scream. However long whatever it had been was trapped in the elevator, it wasn't feeling well by that point. The doors stopped opening, as though damaged, with only a few inches of space between them.

"Come on!" Leon's voice snapped.

Firing off two shots into the opening doors at whatever thrashed behind them, Claire didn't need any incentive to follow his suggestion. She jumped over the fallen body of one of the zombies and headed for the end of the hall. The screaming or the gunshots before should have alerted any other survivors that there were people alive and in the hall working on a way out. If no one else wanted to come, there was no point trying to force them. And there was nothing holding them inside the rooms, otherwise.

No, that wasn't true.

There was fear.

As Claire reached Leon's side, he started to move backwards quickly as well. He skipped backwards two steps before turning to run along side of her. The stairwell doors stood tauntingly far from them.

It would be a lie to say that she didn't feel fear herself. Claire knew what it was, she was familiar with it. The difference was that instead of crippling her like a concrete corset, it was a reminder to her not to get distracted. Fear told Claire to check in different directions, to hold her arm steady before firing… to keep running, even if she was tired.

Probably a good thing she wasn't tired yet.

Behind her, Claire could hear whatever was trapped in the elevator as it bashed against the doors. The creature in that elevator was winning. It would be out soon.

Claire made it to the door first and jerked it open, throwing it so that it would be open long enough for Leon to pass through, and pressed her back to the wall beside it. If anything were following Leon, she'd stop it. She leveled the gun at head height of the entrance.


	21. 2:12

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Previous comments stand. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, watches, and favorites. I appreciate all the readers who are enjoying the story, I know I enjoy writing it. Every time I go to edit one of the chapters in this section, the story gets longer. ;_;

* * *

**May 2006**

Leon darted through the doorway into the stairwell and leapt down the first small flight of stairs to the landing. The landing jarred his body a bit, and his wounds responded by aching more for a moment. Leon suppressed the feeling of it, turning to aiming his gun up the stairs at the doorway. The bashing of the thing in the elevator echoed down the hall, punctuated by a shriek that rose above the moans of the infected that were still struggling, half-undead from Leon's bullets. A few, Leon knew, would be shuffling down the hall towards them.

"Claire," Leon said softly. She nodded, and he shifted his position on the stairs, moving to cover her. Before she came down, Claire reached out and jerked the door shut. She slammed it hard enough that the sound of the latch striking home echoed above the metal on metal noise of the door hitting the frame, and even over the noise of Claire's boots striking the stairs as she turned and descended quickly towards him.

Only once she was at his side did Leon move. He started forward, around the curve of the landing and down the stairwell. At the next landing, he took a corner position and sighted down. There was nothing in the stairwell. Thankfully. Painfully similar, they made their way down the stairs, all eleven flights, ignoring the zombies that were slamming into some of the doors. As they descended the final staircase the scent of the infected grew stronger.

That smell was one that Leon knew he would never forget. The T-virus effects were strange, obviously with the ability to bring the dead to life there would be other strange things. Zombies, he found, could still rot. They could still decay. The scent of them was a foul, sickly thing, somewhere between vomit on a hot day and a butcher's dumpster. And the worst part was that the things could sweat. Not in the later stages of decay, but before the bodies of the walking corpses began to rot, they could still sweat. It was an oddly human quality that Leon did not like to remember. But along with the scent of decay came an acidic smelling body odor.

The dull ache in him throbbed at the scent, likely a psychosomatic response, he knew. His mouth dried a little as the reek intensified, but Leon knew it was just his initial reaction. He always felt like this, at first. Old wounds throbbed, his stomach threatened to rebel with the feeling of uneasiness. They were natural responses to the situation.

The two of them finally paused their descent before breaking out into the lobby. Leon's conditioning would kick in once he started moving. That was familiar, again, the anxiety that came just before and the anticipation of the relief that would happen once he was working.

Glancing at Claire, Leon checked the clip of his weapon. The noise coming from the lobby was louder than the muffled rumbling moans that had been offered from the floors above. Coupled with the scent, that meant two things to Leon. There were more of them in the lobby, and they were closer to the door.

Beside him, Claire moistened her lips. She checked the clip of the Glock and he saw her adjust the spare in her pocket. "What I wouldn't give for a knife," she muttered.

What he wouldn't give to have another clip for her. "At the station," Leon offered in a soft voice, "we'll see what we can rustle up."

She tipped her head with a sour little smile on her face. She shook it, her bangs brushing her cheeks. The motion of the red hair made him want to reach out and touch her. It was impossible not to want to touch her, his mind reminded him. He just couldn't do it right then. It wasn't the right time. Not by a long shot. His eyes must have betrayed him in the length of time that he let them linger on Claire's face. She looked back at him, and the sourness of her smile softened, the whole expression becoming less jaded. The curve of her mouth was strained, but not angry.

Leon tore his eyes away, not quite willing to keep staring at her in that moment. There was work to be done, there would be, once the door opened and…

Despite the stench of the infected, he could smell Claire as she shifted, the smell came to his senses before the noise of her boots on the concrete or warmth of her skin as she reached for him. She smelled clean and alive.

He turned to look at her, and Claire was closer than he expected. She reached her free hand up and dragged him down by the neck, bringing his face low enough for her to reach more easily with her lips.

Claire kissed him.

And Leon just about dropped his gun.

It was a little shock, given the situation, but it wasn't drawn out or even particularly passionate. She released him, putting her hand back on the Glock, and winked at him.

That was almost… strange, in a way. He'd felt like this before, like it was a routine, but never quite… never quite so hopeful. Like so much about Claire, he felt like he knew what she meant with that. It was easy, and it had her speech patterns. 'Hey, lighten up, I'm here.'

"Th-the closest exit is uh… straight across," Leon said, trying not to stammer too much. How did she know he needed to be reminded of that? "The other two are… farther. When we get through the door, head straight." He took a deep breath. "Ready?" Leon asked in a soft voice.

Claire had been very good about not chuckling, he thought. In response to his query, she nodded, adjusting the grip on the gun in her hands. "Let's go," she said.

Without further pause for discussion, Leon jerked the door open. He was right, the far side of the door was thick with zombies. Some of them looked fairly fresh, skin barely turned beyond the faint lightening that was symptomatic of death… others had been turned long enough that their skin was a dark ash, the color of the coagulated blood on them a black, tarry substance. The strength of his jerk on the door alerted the ones nearest it, and though they turned in alacrity, they still fell to the bullets the pair fired from their weapons.

Her aim was still that Redfield-perfect, he noticed as they made their way into the crowd on their way across the lobby to the exit. Neither spoke, they knew the way to move through the group of them. It was obvious that she was less used to moving with anyone else in such a situation, despite the missions with the Anti-Umbrella Movement. Claire shot as she darted forward, aim destructive to the undead crowd milling in the lobby, and she looked to Leon from time to time, but… either it was trust or it was her accustomed manner of proceeding in these situations, she didn't wait much for him. She pressed forward, and when one got too close, or her gun missed, she cracked elbow or palm into the zombie and moved on. Six fell from her, seven from him as they headed for the closest lobby exit.

The glass doors had been crashed by a taxi that had the doors shut. The driver was still trapped inside the vehicle. Perhaps the originally infected passenger as well. The windows were smeared and streaked with blood, cracked in places where the creature or creatures inside had attempted to get out. The cab was catty cornered in the entrance, wedged in the not wide enough space, framed by broken glass.

The two of them paused at it, and Leon lifted and fired at the glass that was only cracked and hanging over the front and back ends of the cab. Claire turned to face the crowd in the lobby as he did it, watching his back.

"Alright," Leon said. Claire moved as he did, turning on a boot heel and moving for the exit. Leon put a hand on the hood and vaulted over it, sliding to the other side. Claire took the trunk.

Whatever was inside was either feeding or resting until they did that. The cab was stable and quiet as they crawled out past it.

Leon paused on the far side of the taxi to survey the situation from ground level. Claire paused beside him, turning to glance over their shoulders once. It wasn't a pretty sight. The courtesy shade had several smashed taxis in it, luggage carts and occasionally bodies in the mish mash of twisted metal. One was leaking gas in a manner that threw the strong scent of it into the wind, and straight at Claire and Leon where they stood. The smell of gasoline masked the smell of the infected.

But the two of them had made it out of the hotel in one piece, at least.

"Great spot for a vacation, Leon," Claire said. This time she did chuckle, and the noise was strange against the backdrop of the moaning from the lobby. "Ve-r-ry normal."

With a snort, Leon shook his head.

Behind them, the sound of shattering glass broke the fire-punctuated silence. Both turned to look. The windows of the taxi cracked, and something slithered a tentacle out of the cab towards them. Behind that, the zombies left in the lobby were making their fumbling way over the cab towards them.

"Time to go," Leon said, motioning with his head before he started to jog away from the entrance.

Claire followed at his side. At the end of the drive, as Leon paused to take stock of the best way to head for the police department, she turned. "Not just yet," she said.

"Claire…"

"Which way is the station?" she asked. She was holding the Glock aloft, and training it on something.

"To the right," Leon replied.

"Good, then let's _go_!" Claire fired the weapon and smacked him in the arm with her hand as she took off running. A half a beat afterwards, Leon followed.

In the half second of her move, the bullet hit its target, the gas tank of the crashed taxi in the doorway. The tank ignited in an explosion that flung the zombies nearest it in several directions and ignited the gas leaking in the courtesy shade. What had been a single gas tank exploding into the hotel lobby became ignition of the gas on the concrete under the courtesy shade and the tanks of all the burning cars beneath it. The force of it hit the two of them, and Leon dove forward, locking an arm around Claire as they hit the ground to protect her from the worst of the blast.

The wind knocked itself out of both of them, but a dip in the road prevented the worst of the effects of the explosion from reaching them. Leon winced, pushing a hand against the asphalt. He could see his skin. The sun must be closer to the horizon. "Well, you certainly live up to your last name," he said.

Claire coughed once, turning over to look up at the sky. "There was a doubt?"

"No, but you do get high points for crazy in dangerous situations."

"I take it you've wanted to say that since Raccoon City?"

"Possibly," Leon replied. He looked down at Claire, sitting up on his knees. He got up to one foot and offered her a hand. "We need to move."

Claire took his hand, and he pulled the two of them up to their feet. "Lead on," she said.

"I doubt they'll ever let you back into a Comfort Sleep."

"Ha," Claire replied. "The bed was terrible anyway."


	22. 2:13

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Short chapter. Thanks to everyone for the reviews. No, there's nothing wrong with the story getting longer, except that occasionally we get chapters that are short like this one. Also, thoughts out to Seto_Takahashi and the fractured bones. Feel better.

**

* * *

May 2006**

After the flashiness of their exit from the hotel, the streets outside were almost a let down. The two of them avoided taxis, skipping past the remains that were always dented or bloody. Claire wondered about her mental state if she was thinking less danger was disappointing, but then she remembered that there was a lot of adrenaline involved in this sort of thing.

This sort of thing.

Leon lead the way. Apparently he had some sort of a map in his head. Claire knew if it were her she'd be checking more openly for landmarks that were familiar. They'd only been there what… a day? Two? But Leon wasn't. He seemed at once at home with the layout of the island, and though she hated to admit it, the situation.

Before she could get too annoyed, a quiet voice in her told her that it _was_ his job. Claire wondered about that. She only ever heard that little voice when she was in situations like this… or thinking about them. The quiet voice was the one that kept her from crying out while hiding, from dropping the weapon in her hands even when her fingers were cramping from how hard she was gripping the handle.

And to be honest, there was something calming about having Leon as backup in this situation. Calming and exhilarating, because when he moved, sometimes she'd _notice_ him. But there was an easier feeling about the situation. It was like she knew they would make it out.

He hadn't said anything like it, but it was there. The two of them together were always ok. Apparently, the blue hour was a good time to avoid the zombies.

"It should be just down this street," Leon said as they reached an intersection.

Claire paused beside where he was, and glanced up at him. Leon had a somewhat pained expression on his face, almost like his injuries were bothering him. That worried Claire, but she knew if it was bad enough he'd tense up. He'd tensed up in Raccoon, and again in Orkney. She knew what he looked like when he needed help. Pain wasn't a cause for needing help, she'd learned the hard way, and if she tried to assist when it was just pain she was liable to get her hands slapped away.

"What… are we waiting for a walk sign?" Leon asked, shaking his head. He made a motion towards the street, and the two of them stepped off the curb almost in unison.

It was impossible to call the island silent, even at dawn. At that hour of the morning normally the gulls would be calling one another, bees would be buzzing against the flowers that were blooming decoratively from their landscaped beds, and the shop keepers would likely be heading from the diner where they got breakfast to their stores to get started on the day. The hardcore tourists started early to avoid heat stroke and fatigue.

With what had happened, there certainly were no _people_ moving about. The streets, as they had passed through them, were littered with bodies of those who had not made it, surrounded in a pool of their own fluids. Thankfully the sun had not begun to cook them. The landscaped flowerbeds were devoid of bees. Instead the flying insects were attracted to the corpses littering the ground, just like the flies that seemed to have come from nowhere to join the feast.

Stepping around the puddles of bug-crawling goo around the corpses littering the street, Claire followed Leon through the pre-dawn without saying much of anything. As they headed down the street, zombies came shuffling towards them.


	23. 2:14

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Thankfully, this chapter is back to a "normal" length. I also finished my inking for tomorrow a little early! YAY! This is the 14th section of Chapter 2. It will hit at least 22. I'm sticking with the lines as breaks... I remember the old days when we could center and asterik to do that, and it was gone for... YEARS. So the idea that it's back is a little sketch-tastic in my book. So we're sticking with the -hr- tags in this fic.  


* * *

**May 2006**

Without wasting too much ammunition, they dodged and wove their way to the station. It was a better idea to save it, there was no telling what else the island might have made… The insects were swarming on bitten corpses… if they had been feasting on the infected as well… No, best not to think up trouble until it showed up. Being prepared was one thing, being paranoid was a good way to end up dead. The dull throb of Leon's injuries became less dull as the two of them moved towards their first goal, but Leon refused to acknowledge that his body was not obeying him as readily as normal. The sun was up as they reached their destination.

And they were not alone.

The number of zombies on the streets had been very low, but as they neared the station, more seemed to come out of wherever they were hiding. The two of them had wordlessly picked their pace up to a jog as the station came in sight, but it was impossible to avoid having to fire and fight with some of them. Claire was normally good at keeping up, but Leon had to wonder if he was just moving slower. He had been training and working at this for years, after all, and she was… while not an amateur or even a novice, Claire couldn't have as much experience with it as he did.

Leon could honestly say he never thought much of vacation island police. The Milena Island Police Station was a single level building with very smart landscaping in front of it. Or at least it had been very smart at one point. One of the squad cars had obviously been driven through the hedges and over the flowers in front, and taken out a part of the sign to boot. The only words left on the partially demolished wooden sign were 'Milena' and 'Police'. The wood was a cream color with a dark maroon on the letters that was shadowed in gray. The squad care was wrapped around a lamppost across the street from the station.

As they were approaching the building, Leon turned and fired off the last of the rounds in his first clip into two zombies that were too close to Claire's heels as she sprinted past the half demolished sign behind them. It was hard to deny it any longer. He was being wasteful with his bullets. He was pushing hard to keep ahead of her. His body did not like complying with his demands.

A pair of grasping hands caught at Leon from behind, and the accompanying stench was enough to tell him that it wasn't a survivor that had grabbed him. They still hadn't seen anyone Leon would consider to truly be a survivor… aside from themselves. Taking his gun in one hand, he gripped at the grasping wrist of the zombie that was leaning in to bite him and flipped the creature over his shoulder.

The animated corpse landed heavily in front of him, and Leon lifted his gun to put two into its skull. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Leon?" Claire called back to him from beyond the sign. She was standing just under the shade at the front of the police station. Most of the front of the building was, thankfully, intact. Claire stood holding open a glass door that Leon could only hope was reinforced.

Putting his foot on the creature's head, Leon jerked the thing by its arm. The sound of its neck snapping seemed quiet against the moans of the other zombies that were shambling towards him from the street. "Coming," he called to Claire.

Nodding, Claire jogged forward into the front of the darkened station.

Leon followed her into the station, closing the door behind him. He was pleased to find that one thing the island police station had going for it was some interior hurricane barricades. He happily slammed the hurricane barricade closed over the glass and pressed his shoulders to the slim inner door, breathing heavily. It was a strain. He was somewhat out of shape, even after the week back on duty before his forced leave. Closing his eyes, Leon tried to calm his heart, to slow the gasping for breath that his lungs were doing.

Claire's hand found its way to his cheek. "You ok?" she asked softly.

He let himself think about the coolness of her hand on his cheek. He couldn't hear much over his own breathing. What he could hear was the beginning of thumping against the front of the building. The zombies that had followed them must have gotten to the door and…

A squeal in the contained space of the station broke the quiet silence of his gasping, and Claire's hand left his face with a wooshing sound of air passing by. Leon's eyes snapped open at that, and he saw her body tossed to the side by the large tentacle of a creature that was blossoming from the drop ceiling.

The creature's mass was extending down through the ceiling, and a dark, slimy ooze was pooling beneath it. What was it? It smelled worse than the undead shambling outside… and Leon couldn't tell if the overwhelming stench was from the creature smelling more potent or the enclosed space they were encountering the thing in. As the tentacles of the creature swung in the enclosed space, it was hard to breathe with the stench being wafted about.

Not that Leon's lungs were cooperating with him fully, but air had to keep flowing if he was going to stay conscious. Even foul, putrid smelling air was better than the alternative.

Ducking, Leon barely avoided a swing of the tentacles, and he turned over onto his back. The first pull of his trigger yielded nothing. The clip was empty. He rolled to the side, reloading quickly, and fired off a series of shots into the creature.

It squealed in response, withdrawing its tentacles before lashing out. Leon scrambled under one of the front desks to get out of the way. He glanced across the room at where Claire had fallen as he tried to catch his breath. What he saw didn't help. There was blood on her shirt, and she looked like she was stuck with glass. Leon growled low in his throat at that. She wasn't moving.

Leon saw red.

And then her hand twitched, and she opened her eyes a little. She lifted the gun, gritting her teeth together, and fired off several shots. This time, the creature squealed piercingly and fell to the floor. Leon got up from under the desk.

The squeals of the creature continued to fill the reception room, and as the bullet wounds leaked dark ooze that must be blood, the scent intensified. The squeals were so loud that the thumping on the glass façade of the building were drown out.

For a moment Leon considered the gun in his hand, but then he changed his mind. The red that was threatening to overwhelm his vision was stronger than any desire to dispose of the creature quickly. No. It had hurt Claire. He glanced around the office and found a folding chair that was overturned next to one of the desks. Leon tucked his gun into its holster and took the chair in both hands.

He beat the thing until it stopped moving.

The squealing stopped.

Leon continued to batter the thing with the folding chair.

It lay there, oozing and hissing, but it didn't move anymore.

Leon wiped his face, careful to keep the blood from his mouth and eyes, and frowned at the dead thing he'd just killed. He waited, making sure it would no longer do anything. In response, what was left of it hissed in defeat. With a nod to himself, Leon crossed to Claire.

She had been watching, of course. Leon didn't really care. The red threatened on the edges of his vision, but his breathing had deepened. Maybe it wasn't the injuries, but the stress of being in the situation with Claire? The worry over her safety… the…

"Leon…" she gasped out, trying to right herself and failing.

"Hold still," Leon said. He got an arm around her waist and wrenched her off the glass she had fallen into. He put his foot through the remaining spikes, flattening them. At some point, it had been a panel that separated the office from the hall… now it was just dangerous.

Claire whimpered at being removed from the glass. She gripped his shoulder tightly with the arm she had wound around his neck. Leon didn't mind the throb from his wounds that came in response to the pressure and weight of Claire. Actually, it almost felt good.

"Some vacation," she muttered.

"There's got to be a first aide kit somewhere around here," Leon promised, hating the necessity. "Hang on to me, we'll find it."

As the two of them left the reception area, the noise that had been thumping on the hurricane door they'd come through… the glass beside it in the windows beside the door… turned to banging. The glass shuddered in response.

* * *

They found the first aide kit in a small infirmary. A small, windowless room, it was nicely defensible. Mostly the kit contained things like sunscreen and burn ointment, but there were some real first aid supplies. Thankfully, despite the blood that had left her skin, Claire's injury was only moderate. Once that had been ascertained, Leon stepped out to the hall. The red threatening his vision got worse when he looked at her injury. Now was not the time to go on a rampage. He needed to stay calm to get through this. To get _them_ through this. So he stepped into the hall, and Claire began bandaging herself. It was strange to Leon, how angry he was that she'd been hurt. Normally, on missions like these, he was beyond anger. He was detached, and focused.

His back to the doorway next to the windowless bathroom where she was bandaging herself, Leon pressed his lips together in a frown and checked his clip again. He tried to find that quiet, emotionless voice that usually spoke up about what to do next. The one that annoyed him by its practicality and how right it always was.

There was only angry silence.

"Calm down, you'll break your teeth if you keep grinding them like that," Claire said softly, "and the dental bill might bankrupt you." She was hissing through her teeth at the gauze she was wrapping around her torso. He could hear it. "I'm not going to die from a little scratch like this."

"Forgive me if I'm _a little_ particular about your physical condition." Leon checked the Sigma's clip again. If he'd had the gun loaded, maybe he would've gotten the thing faster… maybe he could've…

"I'm only going to agree to that if you stop beating yourself up for this. It's not the first time one of us has been injured in the course of an outbreak… hell, you started off injured."

"Later," he told her.

Claire made a noise in her throat that he couldn't assign to the pain of having been wounded. "All done," she said. He could hear her moving. She had pulled on her hooded sweatshirt over her bloody t-shirt as she came out of the bathroom, and she held out her hand for the Glock she'd given back to him momentarily for the first aide session.

The red on the edges of his vision still threatened, and the angry silence was loud in his mind.

One look at him made her pause. "Leon… I mean it, don't beat yourself up over this." She rapped her knuckles against his chest and held her hand out for the gun again.

Leon nodded and returned the gun to her. "Let's find the munitions room," he said, starting to turn to head down the hall. He thought he saw her eyes narrow as he moved.

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket, and he turned back to look at her. Claire jerked on his sleeve, pulling him close enough to press their lips together. Leon was surprised… it wasn't the sort of place… but it felt right.

His eyes watched Claire's as she pressed the kiss on him, and the red fled from the edges of his vision. He sank into her kiss. It reassured him. He could blame himself for the wound, but she had forgiven him. She still trusted him.

Leon put an arm up, wrapping his wrist around her neck. Her hair was soft where it touched his skin. She was warm. He kept the gun pointed away from her, and kept an eye open to the hall they were standing in.

Gently, she pulled from the kiss, checking over his shoulder before she flipped the safety off on the Glock. "I mean it, Leon _Scott_ Kennedy, but so long as that's clear, let's go."

Leon stared at her for a moment. Claire knew how much he hated his middle name. She also knew exactly what to say to snap him out of a funk. She had her gun over his shoulder, and her eyes were trained on his face, but he knew if anything moved behind him she'd see it in her peripheral. What possessed her to be like that for him? He couldn't say, but when he didn't answer, she frowned and gripped the sleeve of his jacket more tightly.

"Leon. Are we clear?"

He found an involuntary smile threatening, and knew he was, for the moment at least, over what had happened to her. Over his guilt, for the moment. He would just be sure that there was time enough for that later. He would be sure that they _had_ a later, and time in it together.

"Clear," Leon said with a chuckle.

"Right, now once we get to the munitions locker, what's our next stop?" Claire asked, following him as he began to move down the hall.

The cold voice returned, easily. "The pier. One of the boats has to be working properly, or we can hotwire it… fastest, safest way off the island."

"Got it," Claire replied.

Over his shoulder, Leon checked Claire's expression. He'd become rather good at analyzing her over the years and… just then, he thought she looked rather optimistic.


	24. 2:15

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews. I'm trying to keep the story sort of a biased 3rd person omniscient, so the descriptions of the BOWs will be kept to what would happen during an adrenaline-charged observation while either killing them or running away. I am, in essence, more of a T-virus zombie fan than a plague victim supporter, but before the story's over we may see both. Also, this isn't the two of them on any mission, they are on vacation. Yes, I am a cruel, cruel person who spoils otherwise romantic interludes with outbreaks, but for now rest assured the goal is escape rather than revenge. I'm sorry to be posting this a day late, but I'm sick (again). I truly wish I was less of an ill prone to sickness, but sometimes fate is against you. Just like with romantic tropical vacations. -bow- Please enjoy. Until next time.

Add: It also doesn't help when won't let me login until Sunday. Fail.

* * *

**May 2006**

The munitions lockers at the station had yielded some familiar equipment. Claire wondered what Robert and the people at TerraSave would think of her if they ever saw her wielding a shotgun against zombie victims. Certainly not what they normally supported, but given the circumstances, if they had a problem with it, they'd have to deal with a gun in the face. Leon had a shotgun as well, and there were just enough bullets to fill their empty magazines. Luckily, when she'd broken into a locker that wasn't open, she'd found another pair of clips for the Glock. Not exactly standard issue, but she didn't care if she was using bullets made by _Umbrella_, so long as she could get out alright.

Before they left the small room, Leon, quiet and solemn, checked the head of the bullets. Claire did the same. She pressed her lips together, ready to move, but he shook his head.

"Leon… what?"

He was rooting in a desk, and a moment later he removed a file. She felt a little nervous, but he emptied a clip onto one of the desks. He motioned for Claire to look for another one. "Do we really have time for this?" Claire asked, feeling impatient, even though she did as he gestured for her to do.

There really wasn't any sense arguing about it.

"And here I was enjoying spending time alone with you," Leon said, eyes trained on the bullets he was working on with the file. "You're so eager to rush out and be among the crowd."

Claire snorted. "After we're off this island, I'll spend some _quality_ alone time with you, Leon. Right now, I'd rather _get off_ the island."

He chuckled, but kept working. "Good, I like that. But don't argue, because I want to get you off the island."

"Always missing the metaphor," Claire said, shaking her head a little. He was so intent on his work… Focused. It was, of course, the wrong time to notice Leon's physique, if there were such a thing. As if there were a _right_ time to notice his body during this. It being the wrong time didn't stop her from noticing it. The way that, curved around himself, his muscles moved as he worked the file on the heads of the rounds…

Claire leaned against the wall near the door, not quite willing to check the hall, but knowing she needed to be close if she was going to react to whatever might come through it. She felt… drained.

Well, going through glass like shish kabob might do that to anyone.

"Toss me your spare clips," Leon instructed.

He was still working. Claire turned her eyes to him, fighting the sluggishness of the pain that was aching her side like it was. Reaching into her pocket, she tossed Leon the spares that she'd collected and tried to ignore the itching she felt in her side. "Are you _sure_ we have time for this?"

"I thought you'd be all for customizing guns, you never had a problem with it before." Leon's eyes lifted and met hers. He swiveled in the chair he was in, looking over at her.

Claire almost felt like laughing. Leon looked perfectly at home. Maybe it was the multiple situations she'd seen him in like this, or maybe it was just something about that skateboard punk haircut he still had, but the dark, disheveled office suited him. The torn t-shirt, the ammunition on the desk in front of him, the shot gun balanced across his legs, it all fit.

It was an almost pleasant image, like a mother holding a newborn.

Wondering at her off-color though, Claire watched as he popped bullets out of the clip and made swift work of them.

He was straightening, then, and it seemed sudden. Claire wondered how long he'd been at it, how out of it she'd become. It wasn't a good sign, she thought, losing time like that.

In the hall she'd obstinately demanded Leon forgive himself for her accident. It was true. He couldn't have done more than what he had done. A sick part of her was a little gratified that he'd decided to dispose of the creature in such a violent, personal manner. She felt like doing similar things.

Leon had blood smearing his face, soaking into his t-shirt. Blood that wasn't the right color. He paused next to her, offering her back the clips.

"What does that do again?" Claire asked, feeling like she was more able to function the more things she was trying to do. Her eyes focused better while talking, for instance.

Sighting down the hallway, Leon stepped out into it before answering in a low voice, "It makes them go splat better."

"Is that the technical term for it?" Claire asked as they headed down the hallway away from the bathroom and the munitions store they had just exited. "Or are you making up things for my girly advantage?"

He kept his voice down, and at doorways, he paused to kick the doors open if they were slightly ajar. "Me? Do that to you? I've seen you half-nelson Chris before, I know better. I just figured I'd go easy on your G.I. Jane knowledge bank, given we both missed out on sleep."

"Yeah…"

"You don't sound convinced," Leon said. She watched him shake his head, and the motion of his hair in the darkened station caught her eye as the light caught on it. To be honest, the scar wasn't doing anything negative to his looks. He was still… beautiful. No, handsome. Men were handsome, right? "Do you really want to have a discussion about external ballistics and mushrooming of hollow point bullets _right now_?"

"Maybe," Claire said.

Leon shot her a look over his shoulder at that, but fell silent as a noise from somewhere else in the station caught both of their attentions. They stayed quiet after that, attention turned to listening as well as looking. They passed an office with the door shut that had blood on the windows, and there was a low moan as their footsteps passed the outside. It was followed by the telltale thumping of a zombie shuffling in a closed off space.

As they moved down the hall, the thumping turned to bashing. Thankfully Claire's hearing drifted that away from her before too much longer, and they continued. The station was bigger than she imagined, but then she recalled that the whole thing was one story. Was it big, or was her time just leaving her again?

The two of them came to a turn, and there was a dual arrow that indicated the exit. The sign was dark, and in the dim light of the station, Claire couldn't tell if it was red or green. Morbidly she bet if it wasn't red before, it was red now. Leon checked to the left, but considered the intersection for a long moment before turning to the right. The left was towards the front, where they had come from, and the zombies were probably coming in behind them.

Following Leon out the back, she paused to aim up the stairs. Leon had another idea, though, and jumped up to grab the ledge. He scouted and hauled himself up before reaching back for her. She winced as he helped drag her up onto the ledge. It hurt more than she thought it ought to. The sun was up now, she noticed, and put on her sunglasses as the two of them crouched in some bushes behind the station. "Which way is it from here?" Claire asked.

"East, unfortunately," Leon replied. He scanned through the bush and pulled back so she could see.

Sea was right. Maybe the screams of whatever they had killed in the reception area had called them, or maybe they were on the street that led to the beach. The thought of the zombies wanting to take a swim made Claire almost start laughing. Or maybe that was just hysterics at the size of the crowd that they would have to either circumvent or pass through. Claire couldn't see through them, and at that level, at knee height, it looked like a forest or something. A moving, swaying, rotting forest.

The next stop was, unfortunately, the pier. Passing through would involve a lot of ammunition, as it was high tourist season on the island. And tourists, being in the class of 'multiple persons', were stupid. Or at least defenseless. Maybe just unfortunate. It didn't matter. Whatever they were before was gone. The crowds were thick and the scent of blood and rotting flesh flowed on the breeze. How quickly it turned from dead to rotting, Claire thought, feeling a surge of nausea threaten to go back and bring _yesterday's_ food back to visit. That was probably the climate, the temperature.

The temperature was already rising, and a gust of air blew towards the bushes Claire and Leon were crouched behind. The scent wasn't even at its ripest, and it was already thick. They were low to the ground, she reminded herself. Standing up would probably make it weaker. Claire did her best to keep from choking. It was difficult. Claire had to distance herself from remembering the faces of the people she'd seen on the beach the day before. She hardened her heart, thankful that they hadn't encountered any survivors along the way. She didn't think she could stand that, especially after the hotel.

The zombies in the lobby had checked them in, and offered to bring their things up to the room… called with wake up service… Claire shook her head. Leon touched her knee. She turned her eyes to him.

Rather than speaking, Leon jerked his head a little in the direction at the end of the bushes and started to crawl that way. Claire followed, hoping that Leon had a plan that wasn't just shoot and run. The area was too dense for that. And she felt sore in a way that didn't make her think running was a good idea.

At the end of the bushes, she saw as she glanced around him, was the gate leading to the motorcade. Had he snagged the captain's keys while they were in the building? They reached the corner of the building and he yanked the edge of the fence up for her, motioning her inside. Claire crawled into the lot through the chain link and glanced around. The chain was loose, so there hadn't been enough noise to alert the sea of undead on the far side of the fence, but something wasn't right. Why was the fence loose?

Claire knelt and held up the fence with one hand, keeping her gun hand free, just in case. Leon scrambled through the opening. That was when she heard the claws on the asphalt. After Rockfort Island, that was too familiar. Turning, she put both hands on the gun, and fired at the dog as it leapt towards her. The motion and the force sent her stumbling into the fence next to the post, and from there she fell to the ground.

The fence came down behind her in a metallic fall of chain link, and the second dog approached. Claire scrambled to her feet and pulled the shotgun from over her shoulder. "Claire!" Leon hissed from behind her.

Her eyes turned for a moment to him. The fence had come down on his leg, but he was motioning behind him and silencing her. No more noise! Of course! The second dog came close and Claire took a step back before swinging the butt of the rifle into the dog's cranium. The swing felt a bit wide, but… there was a sickening snap as the wood and metal punctured the bone and damaged the animal's brain. Thankfully it was sufficient enough to end the hold of the virus. The dog collapsed to the asphalt, twitching, but no longer a threat.

"Who's the one who had me crawl first into a dog run?" Claire asked, returning to Leon to help him get his leg loose from the fence. She set down the rifle and reached past him.

"Yeah, yeah," Leon said, shaking his head. "You ok?"

"My shotgun stinks, but otherwise I'm peachy."

He tipped his head a little before holding up a pair of keys. "Can I apologize properly?"

"If you _insist_," Claire quipped back. This was strangely familiar… almost comfortable. "God," she breathed.

Leon had been halfway to one of the cars, and he paused to turn and look at her. Claire looked at the guns she was holding and felt her hands shake a moment. She dipped her head a little, feeling her shoulders start to shake. The ground was beneath her feet, but it looked like it was shifting. Before she could fall to the ground, Leon had scooped her up against him with an arm.

Her head felt a bit dizzy, and he moved her somewhere, but she was only aware that he was taking her to a car when he laid her in the back seat of one of the off-duty vehicle's back seats. "Leon…"


	25. 2:16

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, as usual. In regards to the rating, I put up M mostly to cover myself from having the story removed for someone stumbling into the wrong thing, but that doesn't mean it won't get actually M-worthy.

* * *

**May 2006**

"Either you're going into shock from the experience or this is blood loss related. And considering the source," Leon trailed off as he reached up to unzip her sweatshirt. Half her t-shirt was soaked in blood, the gauze obviously not having done much in the way of stopping her bleeding. He could kick himself. _She_ had been the smell in the station, not the dead. Why hadn't he noticed? "Didn't you _notice _that you were still bleeding badly?"

"I just thought… you were making me weak in the knees," she joked in a soft voice.

Despite himself, he chuckled. He put his head on her shoulder for a moment, quietly, before he righted himself. He hunted around the car, seeing what there was to tie off her side with. It wouldn't be pretty, but… there was an old flannel shirt under the seat, hiding a first aide box.

He turned back, and Claire's eyes had drifted shut. Panic stabbed Leon more painfully than he ever thought possible. Claire's chest was still moving shallowly, but… not enough! As hard as the panic stabbed him, he grabbed her by the shoulder to shake her. "Don't close your eyes," he said in a firm voice. "Stay awake."

Claire's lids fluttered, but she didn't quite open them. Leon shook her by the shoulder, hard enough to make her grunt as her head hit the seat cushion. "Redfield," he snapped, leaning down to growl at her. "I said _don't fall asleep_!"

She made a soft noise, shifted a little, and opened an eye. The white was visible for a moment before she found him to look at. He was relieved to see the blue of her eye. The second one opened, and she blinked a few times. "Jeez… that hurts," she said.

"It's the only reason I'd do it to you," Leon replied, looking at her critically for a moment. "Keep your eyes on me."

"I hope you'll do it to me in another situation," she snickered weakly, but the sound reminded him more of her normal laugh. The sun beat down on the top of the off-duty cruiser and gave him more than enough light to see.

"You want me to hurt you?" he asked absently, flipping open the first aide kit.

"I didn't say that, I said I want you to _do_ me."

Leon blinked at that, and turned to look at Claire. "Are you ok?" Claire's blue eyes laughed at him, and she nodded a little. "I don't know who taught you how to bandage, but you haven't gotten any better than you were four years ago."

"You never complained then," she said, sounding annoyed.

Annoyed, in this case, was good. If she was annoyed, she was alive and awake. He jerked the damp shirt off her, ripping it in a couple places to keep from moving her muscles. He cast an eye back to the fence every now and again. The mass of undead stayed milling in the sandy street that lead down towards the beach.

"You almost looked like you enjoyed that," Claire said softly. She shifted her arm over her head as he turned her on her side to inspect her wounds. It wasn't easy, crouching in the back of the car like that. "How long have you wanted to-"

"I much preferred our dinner date to this, Claire, and I'd rather you tease me when you're wearing a low cut dress and heels. Don't tease me while I'm stitching up your side."

"You said to stay awake, and to watch you. So I am."

Leon got out the needle and thread. If she got an infection… well the first thing for both of them when they got out was a healthy dose of inoculations. The t-vaccine to start, a few of the batteries they put him through when he got back… nothing permanent would get hold of her. Nothing.

"I can't help it if my mind wanders places like that sometimes. Doesn't yours?"

He started to deny it, but then he looked at her. As much as Claire was a motorcycle riding flag burner, she had very girly underwear. The bra was see through and had lace on it. "Claire, this isn't exactly the best…"

"_Doesn't yours?_" she asked again, shifting slightly. There was a challenge in her voice that he knew better than to try and shrug off.

"Of course it does," Leon said, turning his eyes back to the needle he had found, glancing out the door of the off-duty cruiser. "But right now, we have to get out alive."

She lay back gently on the seat, and stared at him. "You know we could do this faster if we had a knife and a lighter," she said.

Leon lifted his brows at that, pulling the thread and making a knot at the end. "This is going to hurt."

Her voice was low when she replied. "I know," she said. His lips pressed together and he glanced around. "Give me your gun? I dropped mine, I think. Just in case."

Leon took her hand and put it on the handle of his gun where it hung in his holster, helping her to curl her fingers around it. She pulled it out and rested it on her hip, flicking the safety off. "Do you want… something to bite down on?"

She nodded. Leon undid his belt and she opened her lips, taking the belt between her teeth and pressing them together. He reached up and flipped the safety back on, tipping his head a little before he put the needle to her skin. It was hard to do, knowing _who_ he was stitching. Knowing that it was dear flesh that was bleeding on him. He did the best job he could, without daring to look up at her face through it. He knew it was tearing a hole in him to have to do it, he didn't want to know how much it hurt her. He could tell how hard she was gripping the handle of his gun, and that was more than enough information for his brain to fulfill the rest without looking at her face. He leaned down to bite through the thread, having no scissors in the terrible first aide kit. He kissed the bloody stitches before leaning back to find something to clean his hands with.

Claire spat the belt out. "Ok, _tell me_ when we get out of this we're having sex." Blinking, Leon turned his head to look at her. "You may not admit you're thinking about it, but you touch me like you can't stop." A blush came to Leon's cheeks, and he ducked his head, hiding his eyes in his bangs. "And ever since… the other… I haven't been able to control my heartbeat around you… so I trust you, and I like you, and I want you."

"Claire… if you need a reason to survive…"

She snorted. "That's not a reason to survive, Leon, it's just a bonus."

Leon lifted the gauze pad and covered as much of her stitches as he could with it before he wound an ancient ace bandage around her torso. She looked pale, washed out in the sunlight, and as though she knew he could read too much from her eyes, she put her sunglasses on. He wished he had a pair as well, but only when he looked up and the sun caught his eyes.

"Flannel or the sweatshirt?" he asked her.

She glanced at the two shirts. "What was that you said earlier about sunstroke?" Leon glanced at the flannel and then the sweatshirt. "There a knife in here?"

"I don't… think so…"

"I'll just have to rip it then," Claire said. She sat up a little with a grunt, and Leon helped her to right herself. She shooed him out of the cruiser.

Dutifully, Leon went back for her weapons. They had indeed fallen on the ground when he'd snatched her up before she collapsed. The shotgun had some gunk on the end that she'd nailed it into what was left of the Doberman that had advanced on them. He'd wipe that off with her t-shirt, he decided as he gathered that and the Glock from the ground.

Once the weapons had been recovered, he turned back for the cruiser.

Claire's words seemed to echo in his head, making his heartbeat thump a little harder. _Tell me when we get out of this we're having sex_. That wasn't what he _needed_ to think of, especially then, but the thought of her looking ahead… the knowledge that she did want him and that when they were safely out and recovering they would still be together…

A smile played on Leon's lips.

The cold voice in his mind assured him that they would make it.

Strangely, Leon thought that voice sounded as focused and possessive when thinking about being with Claire as it did about continuing to be a breathing, functioning human being instead of a zombie or plagued slave.

He paused, staring at the cruiser.

Claire was bent over her work on the flannel shirt, and he had to swallow a little. _Very_ girly underwear. From this distance, even in the shadow case on the back seat of the cruiser, he could see the curve of her breasts in the see-through material, right on down to her…

Biting off his own thoughts, Leon pressed his lips together and made himself keep walking. It wasn't very gentlemanly of him, thinking about Claire like that. Even if _she_ had been the one to bring up how much he seemed to desire her. Even if she was just as un-mannerly about desiring him…

He tried to suppress the memory of how her skin felt against his lips… of the noises she made when he was touching her, and how she tasted…

It wasn't really working.

Leon walked around the cruiser, fingering the key in his pocket, and opened the driver's side door.


	26. 2:17

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Sometimes I wonder if I'm a review zombie. I thank everyone every chapter. It's almost like I'm calling out for brains. No, not really. Reviews aren't squishy, tasty gray matter. Thanks for them though. I can't really think of anything new to type… and for that I blame the K-pop I've been listening to this week. (It is a very good thing that I didn't have to do much editing to this, or there might have been Asian women dancing… and that's just uncalled for right now.) You should thank chunglo on youtube for his walkthrough of RE0. It's keeping the creepy outbreak level of this story up. ^_^

* * *

**May 2006**

She made mince meat out of the flannel shirt so that it was somewhat comfortable to wear in the heat. No wonder it was left in the otherwise abandoned off-duty cruiser. She wondered what poor, cold-blooded cop on night duty had bundled it under the seat. Once she'd ripped the sleeves off and tied it off just under her bra, it at least felt comfortable.

"Tie it a little lower," Leon said as he got behind the wheel. She glanced at him. "You smell like blood now."

"Tying my shirt lower isn't going to rid me of the scent of my own blood," Claire replied, climbing out of the back of the car. Leon had her weapons retrieved and set between the two seats in the front of the cruiser. She looked up at the fence, and cursed. "Shit, Leon, we need to go, now."

"Get in," Leon said. He didn't ask why they needed to go. He'd probably caught sight of it himself. Claire darted back to the car, all but diving into the passenger's seat. She slammed the door behind her, and Leon turned on the engine.

The sea of infected had drifted towards them as the morning wore on, like the tide coming in. It was eerie, though they hadn't gotten to the gate, they were getting steadily closer. The first of the undead were moaning maybe fifty yards from the fence.

Claire checked the weapons to be sure they were loaded and ready, and Leon pulled out of the parking space towards the exit gate. "Buckle up," he said.

She reached for the belt without question, glancing up momentarily to check the gate. It was shut. She gripped the door handle and nodded. Leon adjusted his grip on the wheel and gunned the car, nailing the gate and lurching the car out into the street. The cruiser complained a little, but kept going.

"We won't be able to drive all the way to the dock. They'd follow, and we may need time to gather supplies for the boat," Leon said. He kept his eyes on the road, eyes tracking it as it curved away. He jogged around bodies, but didn't bother not hitting any zombies. There were too many obstacles altogether to not hit anything.

"We're going farther away from where we need to be," Claire said, pointing at the curve in the road up ahead. "The car's a good idea, but…"

Leon smiled at her a little and turned the wheel sharply to the left, in the right direction to get towards the docks.

"Leon, that's a park!" Claire gripped the door handle again as the cruiser hopped the curb under much protest. The island grass kept the car from grounding out until Leon pulled the car onto a broad walkway. "And you call me reckless," she muttered.

"You on that Vespa? Yeah, you're reckless."

The park passed by with only the thunk of a few bodies that hit the car as it passed. That made Claire wonder about survivors… They hadn't gone anywhere but the hotel that would truly encounter them, but still she wondered. "Leon," she said softly as the cruiser exited the park and Leon looked for a place to park. The moans of the infected were audible in the area. The flock of them were somewhere not too far away.

His head tipped slightly towards her. He was listening.

"What about survivors?"

He turned his eyes towards her and pointed. First at her, and then at himself. She knew what that meant, they were survivors. But… What was that supposed to mean? Because he was on vacation that… Leon stopped the cruiser and climbed out, gun at the ready, and glanced around before he made a hand motion to her inside the cab. He reached back in for his shotgun and slung it over his shoulder.

"I mean it," Claire said, coming up to him to put a hand on his arm.

The wind shifted, and Leon reacted to something she didn't notice as quickly. Leon's hand grabbed her by the front of the flannel shirt she had butchered, jerking her to the side as he tipped his gun past her face, firing a shot.

Behind her a zombie body fell backwards.

The creature's body groaned out a dying gurgle as off-colored fluid bubbled out of the hole that Leon's bullet had created in the creature's neck. The shot hadn't been enough to kill the thing. Claire turned the Glock on it, squeezing off a few rounds. Beside her, Leon did the same. They both stopped firing as dark blood started to pool on the warm concrete around where the thing lay stinking.

Ok, Claire agreed with Leon's lack of care regarding survivors… a little. Out in the open, in the daylight, looking for survivors was not the best idea. Any survivors would be hiding. Most people, Claire knew, were not the kind that wanted to run out and face something like what she and her companion were navigating through.

"Focus," he said softly, dragging her to his other side before he started to move forward.

Claire nodded. It was true. And out here, so broad, any survivor would have come running when they heard the car. Her side was feeling a bit better, less throbbing, but she felt a little woozy still.

"How's your side?" Leon asked as they reached the street that lead down to the dock. Claire blinked, surprised. It was almost like he was reading her mind, and that was mildly annoying. "You lost a lot of blood, I think we should find you something to eat."

"I don't really fancy raw food at the moment," Claire said as they passed one of the dead bodies that had not revived as a zombie. The limbs of the woman, who had obviously been partying in a bikini, were akimbo. Several of them had fed on her, and there were insects that were feasting on her still. "As a matter of fact, I'm off sushi again."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time I take you to dinner," Leon said. "But I meant something more along the lines of convenience store. Twinkies? Hohos?"

"What about my figure?" Claire asked sarcastically. Despite it all, the idea of anything remotely like sustenance sounded good. Sugar, salt… one of those horribly preserved muffins in a plastic wrapper.

She was surprised that Leon's eyes trailed her form before returning to their path. "It'll be just fine, even with the Twinkies," he assured her.

Claire smiled at that and shook her head. "What am I gonna do with you?" she asked. "Bio-terror incidents turn you on."

"No, don't get me wrong. It's you in that rag that used to be a shirt," Leon said. "I told you to tie it lower." Leon paused and gestured with the nose of his shotgun to a small convenience store. "It's not a deep building, anything in there can't be hiding too many places."

Another of the hissing groans issued from behind them, and Claire turned, drawing the shotgun from over her shoulder and tucking the Glock into her belt. "Think you can handle that?" he asked her.

In response, she snorted. "Don't forget to look up," Claire warned as he headed over towards the shop. Leon nodded and lifted his handgun. He seemed most comfortable with that, rather than the shotgun, Claire noticed.

Claire turned to focus her attention on the creature shambling out of the alley towards her. Beyond it, she could see several more. She shifted her position a little before firing. The shotgun blast hit the three closest her and sent them stumbling backwards into one another.

From behind her, a gunshot rang out, then a second, and Leon grunted. Claire rolled her eyes. The macho thing was so annoying when it came to zombie situations. It was pretty dangerous, actually. She decided to move more quickly. Finishing off the small group of them that had stumbled from the alley, she checked up and down the street before ducking into the shop. As she moved, she switched from the shotgun to the Glock. In close quarters, she could hit the wrong body.

There were things she wanted to get to do with and to Leon that would require his in one piece.

Inside the store it was a little dark. Leon was struggling with an infected granny aged lady… CORPSE. Claire lifted her gun and fired, splattering blood and brain tissue on the wall beyond Leon and the dead woman.

She had to think of them like that. She and Chris had a long discussion on that, once. Corpses once they came back, people until they died from it. Never people when they could bite and infect you. Never ever.

Leon dropped the corpse to the floor of the shop once it stopped struggling and bent to pick up his H&K. With his foot, he turned the corpse over so that it was face down. Leon was proud of that stupid thing, Claire remembered. It was modified, or something. The scent of the blood in the shop was somehow less oppressive, even though she'd just added some fresh to the mix. Maybe it was because she had smelled it all day, but it didn't bother her as much.

"Thanks," Leon said, rooting through the shelves.

Why were the two of them being so normal about this?

"Weird when it gets familiar, isn't it?" he asked, apparently still able to read her mind. He moved to the end of the aisle, and tossed a wrapped Twinkie at her. Claire was halfway to shooting it before she realized what it was, and reached out to catch it with a slight fumble. She must be more sluggish from the blood loss than she thought, if she wasn't shooting things flying at her.

Leon continued talking. "After Raccoon… when we were fighting our way out of the area… I thought that. I was worried I was some kind of monster for it. And I was…" Leon shook his head, ducking to look at a shelf where his face was out of her line of sight. "Eat."

Claire obliged him, if only because her head was threatening to overwhelm her body otherwise. She was glad of him there, glad of… she ripped open the wrapper and turned to face the door. The sugar didn't smell, it didn't taste, it was just texture. Nothing to threaten her empty stomach to send anything back up. She kept her eyes on the door as she chewed on the texture that was the Twinkie, keeping the gun in hand trained on the doorway. Leon wouldn't be relaxed, of course, but that was no excuse to make herself an easier target than the injury already had.

"And you were?" Claire prompted, biting into the Twinkie. It had been years since she'd eaten one, but surprisingly it tasted the same, and she knew exactly what it should taste like. She breathed through her mouth, avoiding using her other olfactory senses.

"We tend to get separated a lot," Leon said, straightening. He had a few other things in his arm, and he opened one of them to eat himself. If the putrid scent of death affected his taste buds, or his stomach, he didn't show it. He had killed two of the three zombies in the room, after all. The dark, heavy scent of the congealing blood must not bother him. Claire wondered if it was conditioning, or if he had his sense of smell dulled by some accident like the one that brought the scar to his cheek. Leon crossed to the door and slid the burglar bars shut before he crossed the room and leaned against the counter. He relaxed against it and patted the top of it.

"Hmm?"

"I wouldn't suggest going behind it, but you could take a seat."

"Worried I'll pass out again?" she asked, crossing. She got up and took the seat without argument though. It was a bit of a finagle with the shotgun on her back and the Twinkie and pistol in her hands.

"Just trying to be polite." Claire tipped her head at that. "We said we'd both try to be nice," he offered.

Finishing her Twinkie, Claire licked her lips after swallowing. "You still haven't finished that line."

Leon paused, glancing down at the body of one of the zombie bodies on the floor. He was silent a moment, in which Claire didn't really know what to say, but then he spoke. "…and I was worried, knowing you were alone in all of that," Leon looked down and away from her. She started to talk, but he lifted a hand. "I know, Claire. You're capable of defending yourself, but…" Leon shook his head. "It's hard to express, I guess I just worry about you. But I've said that already."

"I was worried leaving the two of you too," Claire said. It had haunted her thoughts the same way his retelling of Sherry's confiscation had. It was one of the mysteries that kept her going. It was part of why she kept on with TerraSave, with Washington… besides helping people, she wanted to know. Sherry wasn't a bad girl… but if Umbrella got her… "And in Harvardville… that elevator, Leon I don't know what was wrong with me. There was just too much, I wasn't quite ready for it, or…" Claire lowered her eyes to her lap, staring at the fabric of her jeans. It was hard to express what she'd felt in Harvardville. Why she'd left him at the end… why she'd let him send her on to safety. She _had_ been worried about him, but…

Maybe it was that line he'd said to her. She was a protector, he was a fighter. Maybe that had temporarily short-circuited her brain.

Another Twinkie entered her vision, and Claire blinked. "Eat some more," Leon said. Claire took the offering of food-like substance and unwrapped it. "You're highly resilient, you know. But nobody's perfect."

"Except you," Claire said softly.

Under his breath, Leon chuckled. "No, not me. Especially not me." He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling and closed his eyes. "I get hot headed and I rush into things I'm not ready for. It's why I always end up outnumbered."

"Sounds like a pretty specific case to me," Claire said. "You sat through my long phone conversation about Rockfort… if you need to talk…"

"When we get out, I'll bore you to death over it," Leon said. "But right _now_ we should keep from getting outnumbered." He nudged her arm with his shoulder before he straightened up. "How do you feel?"

Claire thought a moment instead of answering immediately. The sugar was helping, immensely. Leon actually _talking_ rather than brooding or just listening to her was making her feel better. She probably wasn't as strong as she'd be if she got to take a nap, but Leon probably wouldn't let her do that. It was good for the shock, but bad considering the blood loss.

So instead she reloaded the shotgun. "I'm ready enough," Claire responded once she'd finished, sliding off the counter to stand beside Leon. She adjusted the shotgun back over her shoulder and picked the Glock up off the crummy little counter she'd been perching on.

He nodded to her and led the way to the door. She knew he would step through it first, but he glanced at her before taking the handle. "It doesn't bother you that I take point all the time, does it?"

"Given that you're the one _trained _to navigate this sort of catastrophic atrocity? Not too much, Leon. I bow before your superior knowledge base."

He shook his head with a soft chuckle and then dipped his chin in acknowledgement before reaching to open the security door with one hand, holding his Sigma in the other. Claire took a step back, tucked the Glock into her belt and took the shotgun off her shoulder. It was loaded. She had more ammo in her back pocket. Leon sighted through the door both directions before he stepped out. Claire followed, keeping up as Leon took a turn down towards the water.

The two of them used what Claire was sure was some sort of formation, filing down the street and occasionally changing places when there was a corner. That much, even without training, made sense to Claire. As much as the two of them could, they stayed to the shadows under the awnings of buildings, but it wasn't always possible. Once or twice they fired handgun or shotgun at zombies that lurched out of alleys, but most of their ammunition was utilized on things up ahead of them or behind them that had come out of a building they weren't anticipating. Thankfully, it looked like most of the zombies had joined the sea of them that were behind them. Unfortunately, as they neared the docks, they came again on wreckage.

Cabs, cars, some scooters made up the twisted wall of vehicles that blocked them from the docks. Somehow the fire that had started from the tanks and tires was still burning in the sunlight. Even in places where the metal wasn't high, the fire was imposing. Thick curls of black smoke from the burning rubber rose up towards the otherwise blue sky. The roar of the fire was like a song entirely made of bass and pop rocks. Leon blocked his eyes and looked at the buildings to the side. The faces nearest them were without hand or foot holds.

"We'll have to go around," he said. He glanced around, considering their options. He turned away from the sun and the smoke, rubbing his brow. Leon was sweating. He looked a little pale, despite the sun exposure. Claire hoped he was holding up alright. The running in the heat… he hadn't said once on the day they arrived that they should go down to the beach. Maybe he had been avoiding the sunlight or the exertion… if that were the case, this definitely wasn't the best idea.

Claire scanned the area as well, but as she looked, she saw that the tide seemed to have come in. She lifted her shotgun and fired at the nearest of them as they approached. Leon whirled at the noise, lifting and firing his weapon past her.

There was a strange hissing shriek. One of the zombie bodies shivered and lunged forward. Claire fired off a shot, but the zombie barely staggered. It lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Nearby, she heard the noise of Leon's gun firing, and she gritted her teeth, shoving with all her strength to get the creature off of her. The slimy grip slipped and she shuffled back a step, bracing the shotgun before she squeezed the trigger.

That close, the creature was nearly blown in half. Both chunks fell separately to the ground, and the collateral spray hit her. Claire shook her head, leaning away from getting it in her eyes or worse… her mouth. The smell threatened to overwhelm her…

"This way!" Leon shouted, backing towards the direction he'd been contemplating.

Claire followed, reloading as she went. It was a good thing, too. Three more blasts from her shotgun and Claire would be just about out of ammo, or at least readily available ammo. Leon fell behind a few steps, slowing himself down to let her move ahead, and turned to fire a few times behind them. Claire darted down the alley. It was darker than the other ones, but it was mostly clear. She only had to fire off a single shot before she found a box that would boost them up to a roof. Shotguns were good at taking out multiple targets.

"Going up!" Claire called to Leon, scrambled up onto the box.

Leon backed up next to her where she stood. Claire jumped, dragging herself up, and scooted over, covering him with the shotgun. "I've got you covered, come on." Given the freedom, Leon put a foot on the edge of the box and threw himself up, grabbing the wall and hauling himself up onto the roof. "You got any shells for the shotguns?" she asked.

Sprawling on the roof, Leon brushed hair from his eyes and blinked up at the sun. He reached into his pocket and dug out the shells. "You're better with them anyway," he said.

"You ok there, 007?" Claire asked. She looked up at the sun and had to shield her eyes despite the sunglasses.

"Thirsty, is all," Leon said.

Below them, the low moan of the infected filtered up to them. The alleyway was filling up. "Well sweating out in the sun won't do you any good then. Let's find somewhere to hide in the shade until evening."

"I was kinda stupid yesterday," Leon said, pushing himself up to a crouch before straightening. He pulled his shotgun off his shoulder and emptied the extra rounds out to hand to her.

Claire took them, looking up at him. "Huh?"

"We should've moved at night."

Glancing at the alley, Claire looked up at Leon. "No, that wasn't stupid. We probably would've been hit by a flaming car. You saw the wall of them, and the entry at the hotel. At least now we're taking _them_ by surprise."

"So it's good to be outnumbered?" Leon asked.

Claire tucked the shells into her back pocket and rolled her eyes. "Why didn't I ever notice how emo you get?" He stared at her when she said that, and she ignored his look and pushed past him, careful not to drop him off the rooftop.

"_Don't_ call me that."

"Then don't act like it."


	27. 2:18

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: …grant me serenity… so sick. So much work to do.

**

* * *

May 2006**

A sour quiet fell over the two of them after that.

Claire lead the way then, which was good, because Leon felt dehydrated on top of the cranky. She got them into one of the metal hangars where the boats were kept in the off-season by taking the butt of her shotgun to the lock that kept it secured. A little scouting revealed that they were, at the least, without zombies in the closed up building. Suddenly he was too tired to care about being angry. "We'll probably have to go back out the roof when we leave," he said, flopping down on a pile of fishing nets. It reeked of year old, dried fish guts, but at the very least he wasn't standing.

And it was a scent preferable to that of the creatures dead and shambling outside.

She stayed on her feet, surveying him. "Let me see what I can find. Maybe there's a canteen or something."

Leon nodded and moved to get up. His lips felt chapped, and the back of his throat was dry. He was quickly getting dehydrated, and he knew it. The medication he'd finished at the hospital was prone to doing that. He hadn't thought before he booked the vacation…

The butt of Claire's shotgun touched his shoulder and she pushed him back down onto the netting. There was something strangely appropriate about Claire bossing him around with a shotgun. In another circumstance…

Well. Leon _really_ hadn't thought. He'd booked the trip in a few hours the night before they left. Claire leaned down to check his face, and frowned a little. "You're sunburned. Thirsty?"

"Probably. I bet you are too." He reached up and took her sunglasses off. With his body able to relax like it was, he found he was still annoyed at her calling him emo. It reminded him of… "It's warm in here, don't push too hard."

"I'll be fine… but if you're worried… Come on, old man," she said, taking him by the arm and helping him to right himself. "I'll prop you up on the edge of this and you can keep an eye out for me. Provided you're not going to pass out this time. Of course, it is your turn, but if you're going to do that, I'd rather you _didn't_ plunge off the landing to the main floor."

"I'll be fine," Leon said, assuring her.

Claire positioned him and descended. He watched nervously while she was searching the office and the boats. Outside, the moaning occasionally came through the walls, or a thud from where the infected ran into the building. Occasionally there was the rhythmic thumping against the door that suggested outside was infested with the infection. But for the moment, they were safe, it seemed. The air in the hangar was hot and stale, but the staleness only smelled slightly fishy rather than the reek of rancidness that came from the sweaty infected. Claire climbed back up onto the raised storage platform they had entered onto and sat to show him her spoils.

Two canteens, one smaller than the other, a first aide kit, some energy bars that were a little out dated, and a flashlight. Leon gratefully accepted one of the canteens, drinking from it greedily before he offered it back to her. Claire lifted her hands. "I drank from the tap downstairs."

Leon glanced up at the roof vent they had entered through. The light was still strong where it filtered through. "I think," he started. "That if you eat some more, it should be fine to take a nap for a while."

Her blue eyes regarded him suspiciously. "Is that for my sake or for yours?" she asked.

"Both," Leon admitted with a little yawn. He was too worn out to argue the point. Over the course of lying watchful over her search, he'd grown weary. Too much tension… too much vigilance, and too much heat. A little rest wouldn't kill either of them. It might, actually, go a long way to saving them.

"Since you're being honest about it, I don't see any reason why not," Claire said.

She helped him up, strange that they were both a little worse for the wear by that point, and they returned to the dried out nets. Leon leaned back into them gratefully, and Claire sat beside him, opening one of the ration bars.

"So… you wanna tell me why you bit my head off when I called you emo?" she asked, chewing the energy bar loudly. Claire did that when she felt nervous about something, or when she was annoyed and trying to get back at the speaker. She was a terror with bubble gum. Who was the idiot…?

Mauro.

Right.

"I mean it," Claire said, poking him in the arm.

"I hate it, ok?"

"Obviously," Claire replied. She stuffed a piece of the energy bar into his mouth. "But why?"

Chewing, Leon thought to himself. What was the best way to phrase what he wanted to say? Hmm… "Remember when… what was that guy you dated… Mauro something?"

"Mauro Tilton," Claire replied, a little venom in her tone.

"Yeah, that one. You know how he always used to call you 'babydoll'? And how you hated it?"

"Wouldn't you? We met over a barfight that _I won_, and he called me that!" She shook her head, taking a vicious bite of her energy bar.

"That's kind of how I feel about being called 'emo'."

"I'll give you that, but you at least have to tell me who made you so pissed about it," Claire said. She offered up the end of the energy bar to him, but he declined it.

"It's… a terrible office nickname one of the other senior ops gave me. Mack calls me the Emo Office Ken Doll."

Claire was very good about trying not to laugh too hard. Leon gave her that, but he completely expected her to anyway. After a moment of fighting it, she gave up and giggled. "Oh come on, that's an adorable nickname."

"Right." Sighing, Leon shifted to tuck his H&K into his holster before taking another swig of water from the canteen Claire had brought him. He leaned back to settle down, letting Claire snicker all she liked. "I'm taking that nap."

To her credit, it was only another moment before she stopped. He could smell her through the sweat on her and over the old, musty scent of fish from the pile of nets as she leaned down next to him, and Claire settled against his side like he expected. Once she was settled he fell asleep almost before his eyes closed the next time he blinked.

* * *

He wasn't sure what woke him. Claire was settled down next to him, leaning against him trustingly with an arm around his middle, but that only put him into a deeper sleep. No… something… Leon listened, perking his ears for the sound of something relating to the T-virus infection or any other type of outbreak he'd been on hand at. A squeal, a shriek… a hiss… a moan… there was nothing. His skin felt dry, but that was no reason…

Then his pocket vibrated again.

Claire shifted, her hip was against his. She mumbled something sleepily.

Leon didn't comment, reaching into his pocket to take out his phone. He'd sent a short burst to Hunnigan before they left the hotel, but the signal was low, and he wasn't sure it had gone through. He hit the talk button. "Hunnigan?"

"Were you expecting someone else to call, Agent Kennedy?" Hunnigan's voice asked. "Someone you already killed perhaps? I'd like to think the communication network has been more secured in the last two years."

"If you say so."

"What's your status?"

"Heat stroke, waiting out the sunlight to continue towards the docks where we'll hijack a ship and make it out to civilization."

"And Townland?"

"We had him at the hotel, but he separated from us in the midst of a crowd of approaching zombies. Presumed dead."

"How many survivors are with you currently?"

"Just the one."

Hunnigan's typing was swift, he could hear it over the line. "There're two BSAA units inbound to the island. The first unit's ETA is about two hours."

"Good to know there's backup on the way."

"I thought you weren't fond of that particular type of backup."

"Yeah, well, at least they have guns." Leon pressed his lips together at that. It was sourness over his last experience involving the BSAA and the rookie that had gotten him bitten. He glanced down at Claire, and knew what her first question would be. "What about other survivors?"

"The BSAA will make a thorough sweep of the island before the marines are deployed to suppress the infection."

Something about that didn't sound right, but there wasn't a lot to be done about it, just then. "Understood, Hunnigan."

The phone transmission ended. Leon leaned back against the netting. Claire shifted closer to him, resting her cheek on his arm as she had before he moved, and he pursed his lips. They were so close to the dock… it wouldn't be hard. Gently, he shrugged his shoulder to try and wake Claire. She shifted slightly, groaning a bit, and put a hand over her side.

"Was that your phone?" she asked softly as she sat up.

"It was. The government is dispatching the BSAA to deal with this incident. The first team will be arriving in two hours to head marines…"

Claire seemed to ponder that, and nodded. "So we should be… somewhere else by then?"

Leon made a noise in his throat. It didn't sit right with him… he wasn't used to strategic retreat from this sort of situation. He normally had some goal during an outbreak that had nothing to do with his own safety. He had a rescue or an information acquisition to do… never… just escape.

Beside him, Claire looked up at the vent in the ceiling and nodded.

Maybe it was a rescue of sorts, Leon thought, but it rarely occurred to him to think of Claire as a survivor in need of saving. Well, when she wasn't trapped by Umbrella, anyway. Hunnigan was probably right. It was best to worry about their own safety.

They rose, both of them stiff, and Leon took a moment to stretch. His muscles, aside from those in his upper back that were struggling to compensate for the still-healing wounds near his neck, didn't feel bad, just well-used. Observing Claire, he didn't seem to notice anything too strained about her movements.

Leon made ready to push the hatch open so they could make their way out onto the roof in the late afternoon heat, gun at the ready. Claire stood back from the hatch a little, holding the Glock pointed towards the opening. The chances were slim that there was anything undead shambling along the rooftop, but he appreciated the better safe than sorry route. He'd been sorry, and he hated what he had to puke up when he was on the vaccine.

A swift jerk of his shoulder popped the hatch, and the two of them climbed out.

The first thing that greeted them as they exited into the afternoon was the rushing of wings against the air. The noise was loud, but the screeching that came with them was louder. Leon stood next to the hatch as Claire climbed out, and as the birds swooped down the two of them dove forward. Leon's motion took him onto his back, and he fired into the flock of them that were circling, sliding down the curved metal roof of the storage hangar. Beside him Claire went headfirst.

At the edge, she grabbed him by the arm to keep him from going over.

The birds didn't follow, choosing other targets instead. Leon looked over at Claire and offered her a grateful smile.

"Yeah yeah," she said with a smile in return, "let's get moving already."


	28. 2:19

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Still sick. Still behind. Sorry for this week's delay.

* * *

**May 2006**

The two of them descended from the hangar roof into the alley on the far side. From the roof it had been easy to see the best route to the docks. They headed down the alley, and when they got to the end of that row, they carefully made their way across to the shells used for dockside storage. After the drained feeling the sun had caused the two of them, and Claire did admit she'd felt drained by the time they'd entered their shaded napping spot, they did their best to stick to the shaded areas…which meant the alleys.

It was a good thing Leon was leading, his accurate sense of direction was essential to navigating their way to the docks. The last of the alleys Leon had chosen lead them to a small alcove next to a cinderblock wall. Claire took a quick peak out before Leon dragged her back. The area beyond their corner had zombies shuffling in it. A lot of them. So many that it was hard to see what was beyond them. Leon stood in front of her and leaned out more cautiously, but Claire knew he wouldn't be able to see more than she had when she'd peeked out. She glanced down the alley they were in, and noticed crates up against the wall a short distance away. She touched his elbow before moving to climb up onto them. She boosted herself to the wall, and balanced on it.

"What can you see?" he asked. He climbed up onto the crates, but remained on the ground. She knew why. Of the two of them, she was the more stable on small places, the more graceful. Especially with the wounds he had started the vacation with. For that Claire knew she had to thank her brother for bullying her into dance classes as a kid.

"We need to go out the end of this alley and then head straight across those roofs." She frowned, lifting the police rifle she'd retained, and fired off a shot at some birds that were swarming on a corpse. The zombies below turned towards the noise. "It's better if we're up high."

Leon made a grunting noise, and then he was up behind her. "You're the one with the sunglasses," he said.

She chuckled softly and got up to a crouch, moving forward along the wall carefully. From the corner, she lead the way in a leap to the nearest of the boat storage units. After she scrambled up, Leon followed.

The metal roofs passed by as they jogged down them, leaping across when they had to, until they reached the end of the outlying buildings. There was a small sea of boats tied up. Apparently the boats hadn't been in use when the outbreak happened. That made sense, as the outbreak had started at night.

Claire scanned the boats floating, but could not tell one from another. She glanced at Leon.

He glanced at her, and she shrugged when it seemed he was looking for some sort of opinion from her. "Hey, afloat is afloat to me. I'm a wheel user, not a fishing enthusiast."

Leon chuckled and motioned her to follow him. He headed down the dock, sighting in front of them. Claire followed a step behind. Thankfully the food had replenished her energy, and the nap had certainly helped. She was starting to feel refreshed from the exercise, despite the situation. The pain in her side was still there, of course, but not nearly as blinding as before.

"This one looks good."

She came to a stop behind him, and he glanced distrustfully at the water. "Leon?"

"I'll tell you during that long boring to death session when we're off the island, it's a memory from Spain," he murmured. Then resolutely, as though he were dismissing the memory and the possibility of danger with it, he turned his back on the water and lifted his gun towards the boat.

The boat rocked a little on the water as they stepped onboard. Claire winced as she did that, glancing behind her. The dock was so silent it was disturbing. "We'll need to check for fuel first," Leon said at her side. "There," he pointed towards the steering section, slightly raised from them. "Let's check the log."

The pair of them had stepped over the railing onto the front of the speed boat. They trailed around to the back where the entrance was, and Leon tucked his gun away to climb up to the steering section.

"It's a nice… speed boat, I guess… what kind of fuel do you think it takes?" Claire asked, feeling the need to make some sort of small talk in the face of how quiet and professional Leon seemed to have gotten since they left the hangar.

"Even I know this is considered a yacht, Claire," Leon said, leaning back to smile down at her.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but his words were good. Leon joking and reassuring, Leon being _human_ instead of an agent was comforting. The sun was sinking down towards the water, and a chill wind blew towards them from the sea. Leon was flipping through the console, looking at the logs. Claire turned her attention to the rest of the boat. Yacht, speed boat, she didn't really care if it was a pontoon if it could get them off the island and away to safety.

Her stomach started to protest, likely from all the sugar and unnatural food she'd been eating since being stabbed by that wall of glass. Claire made a low noise and leaned against the metal ladder Leon had used to get up to the cockpit… that was an ok word to use for it, right?

His head popped back over the edge of the deck above, and he looked down at her with a concerned look on his face. "Hey, you ok?"

"Ugh… too many twinkies," Claire replied. Her stomach protested and Claire doubled over forward, one arm pressing across it.

Leon hopped down next to her, forgoing the stairs and landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and lifted a hand to her cheek. "Let's check the interior of the boat… we're fueled up, looks like…"

"Which means whoever owns the boat is either waiting inside or they're on the island somewhere," Claire got out, leaning her cheek into his hand. She didn't want to feel like this… weak like this. She wanted to be bouncy. But it was like having cramps. She closed her eyes, groaning softly.

"Hey."

Claire endeavored to open her eyes, and she met Leon's for a moment before their lips pressed together. His lips were firm, and warm. She was surprised at his actions. At first she thought that would make it worse… to be…

But the brush of his lips seemed to quell the protest in her stomach.

When the kiss ended, Claire felt herself smiling, and a slight blush was on her cheeks. "Much better," he said. "I like you pink instead of green."

"Get off," Claire said, shoving him gently. "It's not my fault I don't have your iron stomach."

Leon straightened, cocking his head at her statement, and waited for her to rise. When she did, he lifted his gun and took a step towards the dark glass panels that lead towards the interior. He tried the knob, but nothing. He leaned back to place a swift kick on it when Claire put a hand on his shoulder.

"We may want that to latch again," she said. "Lemme try."

It took a few moments, and a little ingenuity. She didn't have anything she'd call a standard lock pick set with her, instead she had the file Leon used in the police munitions room and a hairpin that she always stuck in her back pocket.

The whole time, Leon stood behind her, sighting at the door. She wondered if he was being overly cautious, until the door clicked open, and she tugged on it. One of the owners, very obviously dead for hours and locked inside, stumbled out towards her. Claire slid backwards, reaching for her gun, just as the creature's head exploded in a cloud of blood and living matter.

"Thanks, Le-" Claire started, but dodged to the side as the second occupant lurched forward. This time her gun was faster, and she shot twice at the creature's head. A similar puff of blood, brains, and skull matter took care of him.

"I could comment on the irony of who we each just shot, but I won't." Instead, Leon stepped over the bodies in the entranceway. Claire followed him into the interior of the ship, and was pleased to find that it wasn't very damaged by the creatures that had turned inside it. There was less of the smell inside… they hadn't been exposed to the sunlight.

After they were certain the interior of the ship was empty and secure, Claire headed to the galley to inspect its contents. Leon headed over for the entrance and began dragging the corpses they'd created from the ship.

"So we've got enough fuel, but we still need water," Claire called out to him. "And we're going to have to bleach the place to get the smell out before we go, or I may end up too sick to be of much use."

Leon was quiet as she talked, bent over the corpses on the rear deck of the ship where he'd dragged them. He was searching for something on them… the keys, Claire figured. "Yeah…" he said absently. Then he found what he was looking for, because he shoved the headless bodies into the darkening water at the back of the boat.

After he was done, Leon wiped his hands on the deck and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He crossed to the cabinets and started opening them, searching. The silent agent was back.

"Hey," Claire said.

"I don't want you to have to suffer through the smell," he said absently.

"Suffer through the- what are you talking about?"

He stopped, leveling his hazel gaze at her, and she paused her complaints. "I'm going to go get water. And then we're leaving."

"And you expect me to stay here?"

"No, I don't expect it, but I'd like you to." He sighed, turning back to the cabinets. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He jerked the container of bleach out of the cabinet and grabbed a rag from the same set of cleaning supplies. "We're neither of us in very good shape, and it worries me to do it, but…" he began sloshing the bleach onto the area where the bodies had been dragged out. The sharp scent of chemical clean filled the room easily. "I _want_ you to rest, but all I can do is ask."

Claire watched him, contemplating that. Her stomach had settled when she'd gotten her spirits back up, but… the blood loss, the heat, the sun… The running. It was taking its toll on her.

She watched Leon. The way his muscles moved, the way he was so intent on what he was doing.

Crouching behind him, she put her arms around him, and leaned against his back. His usual scent was overpowered by the bleach, but the warmth of his body was still reassuring. Leon paused in what he was working on, glancing over his shoulder at the top of her head. "And you?" she asked. "If you're not in good shape either… what about you? You go off for water and come back with a fresh set of bite marks or … worse…"

"That's why I said I was only asking," Leon said.

"You said it yourself, Leon. We're better… no, we're _best_ together. Let's finish up this bleaching, and then we'll go find water." Claire sat back, letting him continue his work.

He nodded, and then took a deep breath. Somehow he didn't seem to choke on the chemical smell. "Besides, I rarely have a problem with fatigue… not when I have something to solve." Leon moved forward, sloshing bleach and mopping the area with the rag afterwards.

"To solve?" Claire asked, narrowing her eyes at the tone of his voice. "What-?"

She stopped talking, reaching to catch what Leon tossed towards her as he reached for a rag to start cleaning away the bleach. Snatching it out of the air, Claire was confused. Opening her hand, she realized that Leon had found the keys.

There was a TriCell logo on the keychain.

"Leon…"

"I know," he said, tossing the cloth into the water off the deck of the boat. "Let's get the water."

That didn't seem right. Something didn't mesh about all of this. "Leon, what's TriCell got to do with a vacation island in the South Pacific?"

"I'm not sure," Leon said, straightening. He released the mag on the H&K, checking the number of bullets. Apparently it was low, because he reached into his pocket and began reloading. "Would you rather find a way off the island or find that out?"

"We…" Claire's head moved quickly. So that was what was running through Leon's head – whether to investigate or run. She thought about it.

She thought about the blood tests that would be involved with investigating, just a moment. All those times when she had to sit around for a week while Rebecca ran the appropriate tests to make sure that none of them had caught anything dangerous… the fear that crept into her stomach the longer it took the young doctor to get the results back, the fear it took waiting on _any_ doctor to get the results back. Harvardville was no exception to the fear she'd felt. But no, she and Leon seemed very good at not getting themselves infected. They got shot and otherwise turned into casualties on occasion, but never infected.

And then, like always when she started to think more about herself than about finding out the truth and stopping the things that were being done that were _wrong_, Claire's mind recalled Sherry.

The girl had been twelve in Raccoon City… how many years had it been? How old would she be now?

Claire had not previously considered herself to be much of a mother figure… so the fierce protectiveness she felt about Sherry… the way she _still_ felt about Sherry was a shock. It had become more normal since then… more acceptable. Claire wasn't a teenager anymore, she was an adult and… now for whatever reason it was ok to be maternal.

But that wasn't the most pressing thing to think of. Claire pulled her mind back to the present. To the keychain in her hand and the dark cloud that had surrounded the island vacation she was supposed to be on.

"Neither of us are much for the easy escape, Leon," she said, shaking her head. "Not now." Her voice was harder than she was prepared for as she said it. Leon snapped the magazine back into the H&K. She looked up at him.

He nodded. "In that case, let's take a closer look at the log."


	29. 2:20

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: On to a schedule for the other stuff, hoping to make it out of this alive by mid-October. Thanks to everyone for reading.

::EDIT:: Many apologies for uploading the wrong chapter. Let there be a FIX.

* * *

**May 2006**

After he'd retrieved the log, and they retreated to the cabin to inspect it and formulate some sort of a plan. The log had shown frequent, short trips made by the vessel. While Leon was considering what location the distance would imply, Claire mulled over the other contents of it – passenger lists, times traveled, some vague notations by the captain written in neat script in the margin. Leon was more worried about where it was going than what the captain had to say.

"This is a pretty classy boat to move BOWs in," she said.

"TriCell, while a large pharmaceutical company, hasn't seemed to be fruit from the same branch of the tree as Umbrella."

"Weren't they the ones involved in the cleanup of the G-virus WilPharma had in Harvardville?" Claire asked, glancing at Leon from where she was checking over the magazine from the Glock. Leon shrugged. "That I just don't buy, not all the way. From what I've seen about TriCell at TerraSave… I _can't _believe it, Leon. No. At least I can't put it past them. Not after… not after Umbrella."

Leon nodded. He had to give her that, at least. They were both quiet for a moment. Leon was pleased that hearing the name Umbrella no longer had quite the same potency it did years back. He'd been through too much since then. The same old tingle was still there. The flutter of his stomach when he thought about it, the pricking of the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, but it was short of what it had been years ago.

He couldn't be sure whether it was time or whether it was the other things he'd faced since then. He knew that, in essence, there would always be a strong reaction. Like the recollection of a first hangover, or… the first horror movie that really got to someone… Leon had already accepted the fact that Umbrella and it's actions were a part of his life that would never go away.

Umbrella had set him on this path, after all.

Claire made a noise in her throat, contemplating something. "I bet this boat was used for high profile passengers. Money people being ferried in to see a status update or…"

Leon didn't mention that there were things that TerraSave couldn't know about. He didn't say that to her, just like he never told her all the details of any particular mission. He didn't feel the need to. It wasn't like they had serious ideological differences to surmount…

No, they weren't so different. He and Claire had talked about her job at TerraSave before she'd officially taken it.

* * *

**March 2003**

It was late, and because it was late, it was cold.

The other partiers from the graduation had all gone home or into a bar, but Claire had ripped Leon away from them.

It wasn't cold just because it was late, Montana was _always _cold. Bozeman didn't boast warm temperatures in the spring most of the time. Leon knew because he'd done a few of his final credits at MSU while finishing up at the Academy. Being from Washington state didn't make the cold any more bearable.

But of course, it was Claire's graduation. So that meant it was Claire's evening, and if she wanted them to freeze while swigging from a bottle of vodka in a playground that had frost on the benches, that was her choice.

It didn't mean that the first sign of frostbite he wasn't marching them both inside somewhere warm.

Claire lifted the vodka bottle, wrapped in the clichéd brown bag, in front of him, and giggled a little. That was still taking some getting used to. Apparently, Claire giggled when drinking too much vodka. He'd have to remember that for future reference. "Come on, old man," she said, shaking the bottle. "Drink up."

Leon didn't comment, but he did take the bottle from her, both to keep the clear liquid from spilling on him and making him colder, and to take a drink. It was cheap, and it burned. But it burned good.

"Remind me, again, why we're out here and not in a bar with the rest of… oh, everyone?"

She made an annoyed face and snatched the bottle back, turning from him on the bench and crossing her legs. After the graduation ceremony she had required a change of clothes before they went out. Leon spent half an hour waiting outside her shoebox apartment while she 'geared up' for the evening out.

At least she wasn't wearing the dress she'd had on under her cap and gown. Leon doubted Chris would approve of the drooling man actions that might induce in either Leon or any of the other men in the vicinity. Leon didn't particularly want to get into a fight about it, either. The thing with whatshisname… Wick? … had been more than enough for him in that regard.

Claire wasn't his girlfriend, and she wasn't his sister. Leon didn't quite know if it was his place to pound someone's face in for making a lewd remark about her.

"Because, oh genius secret agent, _he_ is in there."

"There's more than one bar in Bozeman, Claire, I'm _sure_ of it. You and I have been to them. We walked past _three_. And one person can't be in _all_ of them. Unless, of course, he's in pieces."

That brought another refreshing giggle from her. A burst of her breath turned the night air whiter around her, and her cheeks looked flushed.

"And who is _he_?"

"I don't know Leon, take your pick." She leaned back on the bench, slinging an arm around his shoulders, and pointed as she spoke. "Wick, Mauro, Jonathan."

"Are you telling me we're sitting in the cold because of three losers?" Leon shook his head, taking the bottle from her and taking a long sip.

"We're sitting in the cold," Claire said, turning to him, "because I can't talk in crowds like that."

Glancing at her with the bottle still at his lips, Leon lifted his brow. He finished his swig, wiped his mouth, and swallowed quickly. "So… talk. Otherwise we're going somewhere dull and warm. We can fake being drunker than we are and blend in."

Claire didn't seem to like the end of his suggestion, rather than giggling, she made an annoyed face. "So I've been scouted."

His heart skipped a beat. "For… what?"

"Oh, you know… this and that."

"No, actually, I don't."

Giggles broke her even breathing, and Claire tipped her head on his shoulder. The good mood was back, and he didn't get it. "The secret agent doesn't know?"

"I prefer asking you things rather than stalking you, Claire."

"Good answer!" Claire squeezed the arm around him. "Work, of course. Various organizations. A lot of activist ones… some of which are stupid. I can't quite bring myself to be the bleeding heart required to campaign for vegetarian lunches in the public school systems."

The thought of it made Leon chuckle. Claire took the bottle back, taking a swig from it. "But I _am_ thinking about TerraSave."

"Does that involve you breaking up our friendship?" Leon asked, shifting to put his arm around her shoulders the way hers was around him. If she was this spunky, she just might be warm enough to share.

They'd done it before.

Granted the hotel was a little more desperate a situation than this bench with this alcohol and this college party going on.

"… I know it's an NGO," Claire said, turning her head. Either she was just looking away or she was looking at his hand. "But it's not _just_ that."

"Hey," Leon said, shaking her by the shoulder a little. He took the bottle from her hand and set it down, reaching up to turn her head towards him when she didn't turn on her own. "Listen to me for a minute."

There was worry in her blue eyes. Big, quiet worry that was stronger than the giggles from the vodka, or the angry swearing she'd made about the stupid heels that had almost made her lose it on the walkway to her apartment building. She didn't try to hide it from him, when she looked up at him. They were past that sort of thing.

"Hey," Leon said. It came out differently, this time. This time it sounded soft, comforting. It was an endearment, a soothing syllable rather than a word. "You and me were here before either of us had jobs. And-"

"I still don't have a job, I'm just-"

"-you and me will still be you and me no matter what else happens."

"-thinking," Claire finished.

She stared at him after that for a long time, silently. Leon didn't feel awkward, but he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or if he was just that comfortable with Claire and what he was saying to her.

He leaned down for the liquor where he'd set it on the ground, just in time for Claire to lunge forward, her other arm wrapping around him tightly.

Doing that while they were both slightly drunk and Leon was shivering on the park bench was a terrible idea. He couldn't regain balance fast enough, and her lunge turned into a tackle. Leon's back hit the permafrost-hard mulch at the foot of the bench, managing just barely to keep from cracking his head on the shit. Claire's arms were deceptively slender for how strong she gripped him. The hold she had around his middle was tight, and she _was_ warm against him, warm enough to make him shiver a little worse in the chill of the March night air.

Rather than struggle, Leon shook his head, leaning it back on the ground. He gave in to the freezing he was going to feel at doing it, and wrapped his arms around her. It was preferable to think about something good rather than the pain involved. An old lesson, that. "Do I _really_ have to remind you something like that?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes you do."

They were quiet a long minute. Claire leaned back a little, grinning at him, and reached over for the vodka. She took a long pull from the bottle, longer than any that either of them had taken yet that evening, one arm still tight around his ribs. When she was finished, the bottle was upright, and she licked her lips as she set the bottle down on the ground.

"You just finished that, didn't you?"

"Yup."

Leon groaned. He was counting on that to warm him back up. "Well then you're going to come back to a bar with me. I can't feel my ass."

Claire pouted at that, grumbling. She sat back on her shins, off of him but still between his sprawled legs. A less drunk Leon, the drunk Leon knew, would have a harder time ignoring the fact that not only had Claire just tackled him, but she was also still crouching over him. Thankfully for Leon, and the chewing out Chris would do to him later if he weren't, he _was drunk_. Drunk Leon just wanted to get off the cold hard thing formerly called the ground.

"It can't be so bad," he said, shifting to sit up fully, dragging himself away from her. The leather jacket felt like it was made out of glacier. He should've worn a parka for this particular drinking excursion. "I'll still talk to you inside."

Claire's eyes narrowed at that, but not at him.

"Or… I could… not."

"It's not you, Leon," she said, voice lower than her happy giggles from before. "It's them. They all think we're dating."

"Oh."

Drunk Leon and the sober Leon that drunk Leon was imagining both had the same reaction to that one. Intrigue. Confusion as well, but definitely intrigue. People thought he was dating Claire? Probably after that evening of throwing whatshisname into the dumpster… it was normal…

But… dating?

That was… it was…

Drunk Leon knew what he was liable to do with thoughts like that in his head, and shifted back, moving away so that she wasn't between his legs like that. "It's… still cold," Leon said, getting to his feet. He deposited the brown-bagged bottle into a waste bin to give himself time to regain composure before turning to help her up. "And we're still going inside. You finished the vodka."

* * *

**May 2006**

Even if they were different, it didn't matter so much.

She might not even remember the evening, but she'd taken what he'd said to heart. No matter what, they were still him and her. They were still _them_, and they were still there.

Even though both of them had gone home with other people after their chat. In the long run it didn't matter, and, as time had shown, _they_ were still there afterwards.

The cockpit had also relinquished a map of the island. Unfortunately there wasn't anything written on the laminated surface. Leon spread it out on leather cushion of the couch and inspected it closer. No writing… that would be too obvious, but sometimes…

"Notwithstanding what went were TriCell was taking it in this boat, we still need to find where it was going to…" Claire said. She was leaning back against the couch, rubbing her eyes.

And then he found it. A hole. Small, about the size of a pin head, likely made by a pushpin. Leon angled the map and found a slight indent in the lamination detailing a route around the island towards the pinhole destination. "Going here," he said, putting the map on the couch between them again, pointing to the pinhole on the map.

Claire glanced down at it. "That's not very… secluded…"

"The entrances to underground facilities aren't always secluded," Leon said, "sometimes they're almost _painfully_ obvious."

She shrugged, conceding the point. "Alright, so we have a destination. The TriCell facility must be located somewhere on that side of the island… but Leon… what good does it do TriCell to unleash the T-virus here?"

He'd been pondering that himself.

"If it was TriCell that did it," he reminded her. The coincidence was too great… Townland in the area, finding they keychain with the TriCell logo on it, especially on an otherwise unmarked craft. So far most of the outbreaks that had been littering the planet and decreasing the human population had been bio-terrorism or accident. "Maybe it was an accident… or maybe it was so they could test something."

"I didn't notice anything unusual, did you?" Claire asked. She snorted. "Usual. Unusual. Am I really using that to describe this sort of thing?"

"Just means you're stepping up from hobbyist to professional," Leon said, offering a smile to lighten the mood. "But no, I didn't notice anything unusual either… not after having talked to Chris about what he ran into in Arklay… even the thing in the station was within bounds for a normal outbreak."

"You know, in August it was a plant… Downing needed data…"

"Anyone trying to sell bio-weapons needs data. That doesn't change," Leon said, feeling his face set into a scowl.

"Yeah, but…" Claire trailed off, shaking her head. "There's no point speculating, we won't get anywhere. The only place we're going to find answers is in that facility."

Leon nodded.

They folded the map, checked the boat's interior again for anything strange… pulsing, rotting… moving… there was nothing. They did find a weapon's locker that was easily opened by the butt of Claire's shotgun, but the contents were normal for a sea craft that might be run by a company with a security division.

The interior of the boat was really without any trace that it belonged to TriCell. If he were in any other situation, Leon might write off the keychain to some corporate executive on vacation, but not just now.

"I still think we should stock up on water," Leon said, remembering the dry feeling in his throat from the storage hangar.

"That's fine," Claire agreed, "hell, I'll even steal you some Gatorade."

He chuckled at that, checking the magazine of his weapon. Claire was grinning as she checked the shotgun, and despite the dismal situation, it was ok. After a moment, Leon sobered.

"Claire… I'm sorry that our vacation ended up so… strange. I really was trying for normal, I promise."

Claire's blue eyes regarded him for a moment as she thought about that quietly. When she thought, she shifted her grip on the shotgun to a more defensive one… as though she didn't want to be caught unawares, despite needing a minute to think.

The minute passed, and finally she shook her head. "No one plans these things, Leon. Besides, it's your job." She chuckled, but there was little humor in it. "And if I'm going to be stuck with them anyway, I'd rather have you along."


	30. 2:21

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, and sorry for the delay in this chapter's posting. There will probably be an edit to the previous chapter. (I was on DayQuil when I wrote it, and so there's a detail or two in the flashback that need tweaking.) Also, I'm changing the rating on this story.

**

* * *

May 2006**

There was a convenience store nearby, situated at the edge of the docks. Last minute supplies for the avid boater. Thankfully they weren't paying for anything, from the prices on the shelves it was all terribly overpriced. They liberated a cart from the collection at the front of the store, and Claire pushed it into the darkness while Leon sighted up and down the aisles carefully, looking for anything that might try to jump out at them.

TriCell.

Really. TriCell.

The thought of it put a sour taste in the back of her mouth that couldn't be attributed to the faint nausea remaining from her injury, or the reaction to the stench that permeated the closed air on the island. The evening wind had taken care of most of that, and much like reacting to passing a garbage truck, the bile had easily subsided once she'd gotten used to it.

What was TriCell to Umbrella?

Claire's mind focused on that problem. It forced out other thoughts – wondering about how Leon was at piloting a craft like the yacht, wondering how much time they would lose navigating to the location on the map, if they had enough ammo – and left in their place a cold, efficient wonder that she had never felt before.

She wondered if this was how Leon felt about situations like this. She wondered if this was the sort of autopilot that got him through the tired parts of missions, or kept him going into the office when he could just disappear. She wondered if this was the reason he couldn't quit, the switch that flipped by itself, turning off the rest.

Outside the sun was starting to go down, and the front of the store faced perpendicular to the docks, which headed out to the west off the shore. There wasn't a ton of light to sight in, but she trusted that if anyone would be good at picking the damn things out in near darkness, Leon was that man.

It would have helped if either of them had thought to bring a flashlight. The storefront had been closed, glass intact. There had been a few smudged marks on the glass to suggest the walking dead, but they were all on the outside. Probably, if there were any inside, it would be like the convenience store from earlier that morning.

In the back of her mind, like a cadence, or the rhythm of her own heartbeat, TriCell repeated. The cold feeling spread, and she couldn't feel the throb of her wound, but she knew it wasn't shock. She'd been in shock before. This wasn't numb like shock was numb. She could feel her breathing, feel her pulse, she could feel her fingers and her toes and the brush of her lashes against her eyelids when she blinked.

No, this wasn't shock.

But they did need light.

After attempting to make out the aisle markings, Claire gave up and just started peering down the aisles. It was stupid, being in a store and wanting for supplies. When she found the right one, Claire turned the car down the aisle for home supplies. There had to be flashlights, right?

He followed, wordlessly, a quiet guardian at her side. It was a little unsettling, having Leon take up that post… even though she felt herself reverting to the armed survivor mentality, when he got quiet and professional…

What was it he'd joked at her?

She was moving up from hobbyist.

Tempted to snort, Claire held it in. If there were anything in the store, it would hear her, and if it heard her, it would come looking for the maker of the noise. Then she _did_ snort. The cart was making enough noise to give away their location. One of the wheels squeaked a little when turned, and time was more important than a silent, cruising buggy. At least it wasn't covered in anything contaminated.

Trying not to think of quarantine after this… of the tents and the blood tests… Claire pulled the cart up short next to the flashlights. She fumbled with one in the dark of the store interior until finally she got it open, and then took some batteries from a nearby sideline display.

"Hey," she said softly.

Leon turned, slightly, and she tossed him the flashlight before moving to free a second one. She dumped some extra batteries into the cart as well. If they were tooling up for an underground excursion, she wanted more than just the items in her survival pack. The lighter would eventually run out of fuel, and the flashlight would be a brighter, steadier light.

Once that was done, she turned on her flashlight, looking up at the aisle signs, and began to navigate their way towards the water. The shotgun leaned upright in the basket, and Claire put the Glock in the smaller basket section designed for seating children. If anything came up in front of her, she'd get to the gun before it could lunge.

She hoped.

No, that she was pretty confident about. The cart could be used to check most of what would be stumbling around, and if not, she could dodge and…

Well, Leon was the best backup she'd ever had, aside from Chris. She didn't need to worry. When she needed it, he was there to help.

As they were moving down an inside aisle at the end of the long rows of shelves, there was a noise of shifting. It didn't start until Claire was halfway passed the aisle, but Leon, a few steps behind her, turned towards it. Claire paused, lifting the Glock and sliding the cart to a halt, and waited for the telltale noises… a shuffle, a hiss…

There were none of those. Frowning, Claire tucked the Glock into her belt and took up the shotgun before she took a few steps backwards towards the aisle.

The noise of rushing footsteps on the aged tile of the little store was what sounded in the darkness, and a rushing grunt. Then she heard Leon's shoes shift, squeaking a little against the flooring.

It was hard to make out, even with the flashlight. A small struggle was underway, the outcome of which seemed uncertain. Leon was, by far, the better fighter, but he was also tired and convalescing from previous injuries.

Shifting and angling the flashlight, Claire tried to get a good look at whoever or _what_ever Leon was wrestling with. Was this person infected? Had they already turned?

The two of them were wrestling one another against the shelves, scattering chips on the linoleum when Claire cocked the shotgun. It was hard to see properly, but she could see to make a shot. Whoever… no. In this case it was best to assume the negative. Corpses that came back were whats, she reminded herself, not whos. Whatever Leon was wrestling with was bald. That made it simple. _Shoot the one with no hair._

The shotgun would be messy, her brain supplied, she should switch to something more precise. She didn't want to hit Leon… but, no, he'd get out of the way.

In the otherwise quiet store, the shotgun made a loud noise. It alerted the struggler. "What the hell!" the man screamed, close to Leon's ear.

The man's attention diverted, it gave Leon the opening he needed. He elbowed the man in the stomach and shoved, sending him into the opposing shelves hard enough to knock him onto his ass. Then he pointed his gun at the man's face.

"What the hell!" the man repeated.

"You make the most interesting friends, such large vocabularies," Claire said. She still felt cold, a part of her wondered if the man was infected or… if he was clean.

Clean.

Dirty.

When did people become like that?

Probably when she felt the angry fire burn her that made her want to _know_. Probably the same thing that wouldn't stop repeating the name of the corporation whose logo was on the keychain Leon had taken off the zombie.

"You're telling me," Leon replied, eyes glued to the man he'd just finished wrestling with. "Who are you?"

"Oscar," he snorted.

Leon seemed intent on the man before him. Now that the action was settled down, Claire inspected the rest of the aisle, scanning it with her flashlight. Leon's had fallen, and was casting light across the strewn bags of chips. There was a shift in the beam, and Claire turned her flashlight towards it, swinging the shotgun after it.

That was when she saw the two children huddling. They were crouched almost under the shelves.

In an instant whatever had been cold and focused was shattered.

She was nineteen again, and the situation was fresh. The two children were a single little girl abandoned by her parents. There was no one else to help the girl, and there was no one coming to save anyone. No BSAA, no police, nothing.

The name pulsing in her mind faded. The memory was too strong.

Edging around behind Leon, Claire approached them, kneeling beside the children that were cowering from the fight in the aisle, and planted the butt of the shotgun against the tile so she could extend an empty hand towards them. "It's ok," she said softly.

"Do you always try to take people's guns the hard way, Oscar?" Leon's voice was stern, distrustful and disapproving. She'd heard that tone before, usually when he was having to read someone the riot act about not second guessing his decisions because of his age. Well, more appropriately, when he was recounting doing that. The only time she'd had to hear him give that particular speech to someone else in person was in Harvardville.

The man made a face. "Are you always so nosy and stuck up? Who are _you_, anyway?"

"Leon S. Kennedy. That's Claire Redfield." Leon hesitated, and Claire could understand why.

They had been on their way to investigate the facility they suspected was ground zero for the outbreak… and now they had civilians to get to safety. Not just this Oscar. He was a survivor, but… two 'save-me's. Children were an exception to everything, at least they were to Claire and… she thought, to Leon as well. They changed everything, and it made Claire feel a little uncomfortable. She still wasn't sure how she felt about not thinking of herself as a survivor to be extracted. When had that changed? Was it just over the last day…? Harvardville? Orkney? Munich? Had it been after the Anti-Umbrella work or before? Did she even feel like a 'save-me!' survivor on their way out of Raccoon?

No, even then it hadn't felt quite like she needed rescue. She was too active, too involved in her own escape. And she'd had someone to protect.

Sherry…

Leon's conversation with 'Oscar' faded into the background as she thought of the young girl. How old would Sherry be? Studiously, she kept her eyes away from Leon. She'd never really asked him about her, and it was something she felt guilty about. But she knew that Leon wouldn't have just given Sherry away without doing his best to know that she was safe. She trusted Leon, and she knew that he felt the same way about certain things.

Why now? Why here?

A part of her longed to have that cold, efficient part of herself surge back and take over again. She wanted the steel in her veins, the detachment of focus. It would be better, wouldn't it? It would be easier than this. Than caring.

No… it wouldn't be. But it might work for a while.

Just not now.

"What are your names?" Claire asked the children before her gently, letting her mind block out Leon's conversation as she focused. Beside the boy, who had put himself in front of the young girl physically, the twin girl smiled a little.

"He's Nicholai. I'm Emily." Her voice was soft, Claire noted. The two children were smudged and dirty, probably bruised underneath all the dirt, but otherwise looked healthy.

Claire's eyes shifted to Oscar a moment. He didn't _look_ like their parent. Maybe, like her and Sherry, he just couldn't leave them behind. No matter what, she couldn't do it either. "Well, would you two like to come along with us?"

Oscar was looking at the children like they had grown new heads, but Leon's glare silenced the look easily. "If you have a way off, I'm going," Oscar said.

"Good," Leon replied. "You can help carry the water."


	31. 2:22

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Again, thanks to everyone for reading and for reviewing, and sorry for the delay in this chapter's posting. In part, I blame Capcom's timeline on things. More note at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**May 2006**

Once they finished their 'shopping', Claire lead the way out of the store and back towards the docks. The two children… Leon couldn't remember their names and a part of him didn't _want_ to because if the three of them hadn't shown up then they would be on their way to finding out-

No, that wasn't fair.

The cold voice of his survivor's thoughts pondered putting them on a boat alone, but then his eyes caught Claire's as she checked back on Oscar.

What would Claire think of something like that? Leaving survivors…

Between Claire and the children and Leon himself, Oscar was in charge of the cart that held the water containers. Complacently in charge of them, after the small 'discussion' they'd had just inside the doors of the convenience store.

If they'd not found the three of them, there wouldn't have had to be three five gallon containers. They would've maybe needed one, two at most, and there would be no need for the awkward, bulky cart that they were being pushed in. A frown etched itself in Leon's mind, one that he worked to keep off his face. Claire would notice, even if she was only checking on Oscar.

Leon had known Oscar would be trouble from the minute the man rushed him to try and take his gun. The man was built like a line backer, despite being too old to play and having gone to seed. Oscar was used to being able to force getting his way of things, Leon figured. What he couldn't figure out was why the man had kept the kids with him. Despite that, the rest of his attitude made a clear impression on Leon, so he assumed the man would be trouble.

Leon could've held out a hand and counted down until the moment when Oscar proved it.

Oscar started by protesting being in charge of the water cart, which Claire gave up to him in order to shepherd the two children along with them. That made Oscar try to round on Claire. He didn't see why they had to bring the two children that had been hiding with him. Despite the fact that they had been hiding _with him_ before Claire and Leon had shown up.

Nearly out the door, the low, distant sound of the infected filtered through the cracks. The light was fading as the sun sank towards the sea, painting the front of the store in the golden amber of sunset. Leon remembered that from the few minutes that had passed since it happened, because his mind was scanning through the glass to see if there were dark silhouettes shuffling towards them.

Claire started to round on Oscar, but a polite gesture of Leon's gun to the bald man's mouth made enough of a plausible argument that the man stopped talking. The worst part was that Leon was barely conscious of the shift of his arm to put the muzzle of his weapon against Oscar's cheek until he'd _done it already_.

Thankfully, he restrained himself before he got to pulling the trigger. When had he gotten so annoyed?

Thankfully, too, the two children didn't seem to notice that part of the discussion. They stayed quiet and wary on the far side of the shopping cart. Neither of _them_ had no problems following Claire's directions regarding the little shopping spree, and as the group headed back for the docks, the two carried bags of food that didn't fit in the cart. Truth was they _could _have fit in the cart, but Leon saw Claire's theory on it. With something to do, they could focus on that instead of worrying. And grabbing it was a good idea. The food wouldn't last too long, but no journey would take forever, if they were smart.

Oscar stuffed his protests and his arguments after that, and they started back from the convenience store to the ship.

There wasn't time to ask Claire what she wanted to do. Leaving the three of them in the boat would be a bad idea, in case there was anything in the water surrounding the island. Taking them along was a good way to get them killed.

Leon would just have to trust the instinct that told him to get the survivors to safety. It _felt_ like the right one to have, like the one she would have. It was usually his job, rather than the guerrilla-strike force mentality he'd be acting if they descended into the ground zero TriCell facility.

Not that he couldn't. He was good at that too.

Not that he didn't want to. He did.

The level head he was studiously keeping dominant in his mind didn't negate how angry he was that this _particular _trip had to involve outbreak. He was placating himself that it, so far, had not involved infection as well.

Claire continued on point as they headed down the dock. Leon held the rear, so he could keep a careful eye on Oscar. There was a moment of tense anxiety on Leon's part as the children moved from the aged asphalt onto the wooden boards of the dock. That was the sort of thing that children, in his experience, as well as barely-legal silver-spoon-fed President's daughters tended to face plant on. Claire was strong, and she was good, but there were two of the mini-humans, and she had a shotgun.

He didn't bother to correct himself from thinking that term for the little humans. The cold voice was more preoccupied with the situation at hand.

A second hitch came as Oscar caught the wheels of the cart on the edge of the wood, and the weight of the water jammed the cart in place. The man grumbled, glaring at Leon to do something.

Half-tempted to snap at the man, Leon satisfied himself by elbowing him in the back while he kept his eyes alert for any undead that might shamble up to surprise them. It wasn't where he wanted his focus. He wanted to have it on the smaller group moving away from them, making sure nothing leapt up from the side and surprised one of the mini-humans.

No. _Kids_.

It wasn't that Leon _disliked _them, it was that they were generally in need of saving in this sort of situation. And two of them put the odds definitely out of favor.

"Oscar. Move."

"Alright, fine." The fat man, Leon didn't care thinking about being nice and calling him 'thick', right now he was pissing him off so he was _fat._ The fat man moved to leave the cart behind.

Shifting the grip on his weapon, Leon frowned at Oscar.

"It's jammed."

"Un-jam it," Leon said in a low, dangerous voice. He spared a glance over his shoulder. Claire was paused halfway down the dock, the kids on either side of her. She had a confused look on her face. "We'll need the water."

"Where do you think we're going that we need all this damn water?"

Leon's patience was ebbing. He was annoyed, and it was like his patience was water poured into a frying pan over a high flame. It was evaporating the longer he had to stand around talking to Oscar instead of being productive and moving. It was distancing him from Claire. "Look, Oscar, un-jam the wheel and move-it."

"It's stuck," Oscar pushed forward, towards Leon as he said it, a sneer on his lips that made his entire face pull into something much more grotesque than it had any right to be in a breathing, thinking human body.

It was like facing off with a damn zombie. Leon's patience threatened to leave left him entirely. He reached over with one hand, gripped the front of the cart, and wrenched it free from where the wheels were caught. He leaned in towards Oscar, glaring. "Put your hands back on the handle and _push_."

"Leon?" Claire's voice called back to the two of them, quiet but still over-loud in the hushed evening silence.

The flame turned down, and though the pan was still hot, more water was poured into it. His patience came back quickly.

Oscar did as he was told. Leon turned, nodding to Claire, and the two of them moved after her and the children. The cart made an ungodly amount of noise on the boards of the dock, but they reached the yacht without greater incident than an increase in the pitch of the moans of the infected, as though they had heard the racket and were responding by closing in on it. Leon stood guard as the others loaded the water and food onto the yacht.

His patience seemed to simmer, idling but still heated. On alert. The grip of the H&K felt reassuring. He shifted his hand on it, feeling the texture against his fingers, rubbing his wrist gently to make sure he hadn't strained something when he forced himself _not_ to shoot Oscar. Overhead the sky was starting to darken more fully, and as the sun sank, he knew the zombies would be more active. It was never a good idea to let one's guard down during an outbreak, but being so close to the exit made it tempting.

"I told you to relax," Claire said softly, stepping up next to him. She seemed to be doing something similar with her hands. Her thumb was tracing the grain of the wood on the handle of the shotgun, and she kept it at the ready in a way he associated with her being distracted or anxious. "And that we'd want that door to lock."

He chuckled, shaking his head, but it sounded hollow. Claire grinned a somber grin, still looking pale, and winked at him as she lifted the shotgun pointedly.

"I know," Leon said. It was the only thing he could think to say. It didn't keep him from adjusting his hold on the H&K again.

There was quiet on the dock for a moment. The lapping of the water against the boats and the wooden posts that supported the walkway was the loudest noise aside from the footsteps of the children and Oscar as they finished emptying the cart.

The noise of the footsteps faded as the civilian survivors entered the boat interior with one of the last loads, and it was then that Leon spoke.

"Claire, what do we do about them?" Leon asked softly. "Where we're going…"

"We couldn't leave them there," Claire said, voice firm. Leon nodded in agreement. "Let's… get out to sea first, it'll be safe from the zombies, and then we can… think."

Not sure if he agreed with that, based on past experience, Leon decided not to bring up the big, giant, ugly thing that had tried to swallow him and the boat whole in Spain. Instead, he mentioned what was annoying him worse than the zombies. "Oscar's going to be a problem."

"Men usually are. They have trouble following simple advice. Here's some advice I know _you will_ follow. Go play captain."

Leon chuckled, shaking his head, and turned for the yacht as the kids came out for the plastic bags containing the snacks that had been liberated for the journey. That was when the noise of the infected reached them again, disturbing the quiet of moments before. Turning, Leon's eyes quickly found the group of them that had cried out.

At the end of the dock there were zombies stumbling forward. The wind shifted as the sky darkened a few more shades. The moans and the scent of them filled the early evening air, but Claire broke the noise with her shotgun. The sharp crack caused the other survivors to gasp, in the case of the children, and curse in the case of Oscar.

Leon squeezed off a few rounds, but Claire was ahead of him. Three steps off the boat and down the dock already. "Get it started!" Claire called over her shoulder.

He didn't hesitate to follow her suggestion. Two of them moving to fight would only hinder their escape, and Claire's shotgun had a wider spray than the H&K. He moved quickly up the ladder. "Oscar, get the children inside the boat!" he snapped as he glanced down and saw the man and the two children staring numbly at Claire's progress. The barked command brought Oscar to life, and he did as he was ordered.

Forcing himself not to look after Claire, Leon found the keys. It took only a moment to get the keys into the ignition, and then the motors roared to life. Glancing out, Leon saw that Claire was three boats down, reloading the shotgun. "Claire, come on!"

Her attention was caught and she skipped backwards, pausing to fire again. It was then that the volume of the moaning hiss from the zombies became apparent. It was louder.

Claire had fired… how many times? And the sound of them was _louder_.

It made sense, the cold part of Leon's mind surmised. They weren't exactly leaving in quiet retreat.

Leon lifted his weapon, sighting at the other ships, the ones along her route. He saw them, then, hiking their way up into jagged versions of straight on the decks of the other ships. Blood stained various parts of their bodies. Leon knew what that would be like, close up. He forced down the memory of the smell of them up close, the chunks of flesh that would be hanging from their infection bite… He fired repeatedly as the zombies that had fallen and lay quietly rose in response to the scent of Claire moving past them but had been awoke by her returning, or maybe by the darkness that was setting in.

Why did nightfall wake the things like an alarm clock?

Claire gave up firing and worked on the ties keeping the boat to the dock, making quick work as Leon covered her. Finally she jumped the edge of the dock onto the boat and turned to retake the Glock. "Time to go," she called up to Leon.

With a nod, Leon tucked his weapon and turned to the controls of the boat. The craft answered readily, and the boat headed quickly out towards open water. Leon was pretty impressed with himself. He only hit one or two of the other boats in the dock area on departure.

Claire climbed the ladder and flopped down on the deck behind his feet, a grateful chuckle in her throat, and took a deep breath. "I'll take sea air over that any day."

Turning to respond, Leon felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "It's Hunnigan," he said to Claire. "What do we-?"

"Maybe she has news," Claire said. "We'll know better what to do when we have it."

Nodding, he reached in to pick it up. "Kennedy here."

"About time. The BSAA should be reaching the island in twenty minutes. If you haven't evacuated, get yourselves somewhere visible."

"Well, I consider a yacht in the ocean to be evacuated, don't you?"

"Good to know you're still with me, Leon," Hunnigan said. "I'm going to send you coordinates of the mop up location. They'll have the appropriate facilities to treat anything you or your friend caught on Milena."

Glancing at Claire, Leon frowned. They still hadn't finished talking about… "I picked up a couple more, there's no problem there, right?"

Claire's eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply where she was reclined against the deck behind him.

"I'll apprise the area manager of the situation. How many extras?"

"Three."

"Understood," she replied. "Hunnigan out."

Leon shook his head. He switched the phone to the message he'd received and coordinated it with the ship's navigational computers. The result was that there would be several hours of travel before they'd be able to stop. But that was only if they were going to go.

"Are you ok?" he asked Claire, glancing down at her.

Claire was watching him, her eyes somewhat guarded. She nodded, put a hand across her stomach, and sat up with a groan. "You?"

"Tired, sore… annoyed, angry. Pick an adjective."

"I see." Claire said.

After a period of silence with only the wind and the boat motors to prove time hadn't stopped, Leon nudged her with his shin.

"Same," she admitted, rolling her shoulders. "So. What do we do?"

Glancing behind them, Leon slowed the engines of the boat so that not quite as much wake was churning behind them. The noise quieted again, and he settled himself in the chair behind the wheel. "You're asking me."

From where she was lying, Claire closed her eyes.

Leon pressed his lips together, felt his brow furrow. It was hard to express… to say how _torn_ he felt about the situation. On the one hand he knew that it was wrong not to get the three… well, not to get two of the three to safety. It was cruel to take children from a nightmare, to promise to wake them up, and then to force them back into it.

The island would be filled with them. The island _was_ filled with them, and it wasn't going to go away just because the BSAA had arrived. It would take hours, days, maybe even weeks to clean up the leftovers of the outbreak after the first response team dealt with the initial infection. T-virus infection was insidiously difficult to purge. Turning his eyes back towards the dark shore that was becoming less pronounced as the light continued to fade with the evening, Leon frowned, lips setting in a line.

On the other hand, this was not the sort of thing that should get to be _normal_ for anyone. It wasn't the sort of thing that should be brushed aside or written off because it happened all the time. There was a lead there. TriCell. There was information, probably a source…

Of course it _could_ be unrelated, his mind supplied. Townland had been there. It was a terrible, nasty coincidence. It might be the coincidence that caused the outbreak. It had been the only available cause for them before.

Or.

Maybe they were just having a McClane experience.

"It's hard to know what to answer," Claire said, interrupting his thoughts.

Blinking, Leon looked down at her. Was she reading his thoughts?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot or anything, I just… I don't know what to say, myself. There's a very large part of me that wants to turn the boat around and go straight back to that TriCell facility and find out what's going on, but… there's another part… a grateful part of me that wants to run. I'm older than this though, right? Running from the things that scare me in my dreams?"

Whatever he was worried about left him as she spoke.

That was weird, wasn't it? Or it should be weird. Why was it that Claire could change his thoughts so quickly? What about her could shift him from his own thoughts so easily?

"That's not about being older or more mature," Leon said. "Not when you have a choice."

She was quiet, stewing that over for a moment.

"But here we do, and part of that has to be about the people that are with us. No matter… what we may want to do about what's happened. It's not…" Leon frowned at himself, letting his eyes turn back to the water. He took a deep breath.

Claire didn't interrupt. He figured she was deep in her own thoughts about the situation.

Slowly, so he would get the full thought out, Leon continued. It was something he'd had to ask himself long ago. Years back, about Sherry. It was a question he'd spent most of an entire night doing nothing but thinking over. Stewing.

* * *

**November 1998**

A week and a half after Claire had split, headed for Europe after Chris… headed for Europe after Leon all but _forced _her out of their frantic getaway… Leon knew they were being followed.

It was shortly after Claire's email that they were caught. He had thought she wouldn't remember his, the question had been half a joke when she'd asked him. He had been looking over her shoulder at one of the library stops, and she asked if he was jealous, or if he wanted her to send him email to. The conversation had followed through with her asking for his email, even if he wasn't jealous.

Leon had only checked the email account on a whim, but there was a message in the inbox from a strange name. Normally one to delete what was probably spam, Leon had opened it. He was glad he had. There was no greeting, but he knew who it was from.

_ Caught. Umbrella. _

The two words had been enough to make his heart stop. He knew who it was. He didn't need any other indication. After that was a set of coordinates and instructions for what to tell Chris.

Strange, the feeling brought on by that. Leon felt brightened by their exchange, even though it told him only that she was in danger, again.

No. It said more.

She was in danger, yes. But she was alive. Claire had an uncanny, almost miraculous ability to make it through things like that, almost like the angels painted on her clothing really _were_ looking out for her.

Not only was she alive, she was remembering him.

Somehow, knowing that, being sure that there was one other person in the world that was alive caring about what happened to him and Sherry made a difference. Even if Claire was in danger, she was still thinking about them.

It didn't make it any easier to relay the information to Chris.

He would never voice the suspicion, but Leon could wager that being caught was something to do with checking that particular email and getting the message relayed for her. It didn't matter to him, really. It was all a matter of time one way or the other. In hindsight, Leon was fairly certain that with what he knew then, by the time he suspected he was being followed, he was really already caught.

Probably left on a leash to see if they could catch anyone else.

The tire on the sedan had blown, and he knew, even as Sherry shrieked and he guided the thing to the side of the road, that it was over. The chase was called to a halt. He recalled being glad that Claire wasn't there to be caught wit them, but also wishing for someone he trusted.

The vans pulled up, one stopping in front of them, the other behind them, and Leon motioned to Sherry to get out slowly. The girl didn't want to budge. Reaching over, he undid her seatbelt and gathered her against his side. When he slid out of the car, he just pulled her along with him.

Sherry trusted him, even through her fear.

It made his heart sink to realize that, when she didn't struggle against his grip. She trusted him, and he was leading her into a situation that couldn't be trusted. He was taking her into danger, again, when he had promised to take her out of it.

Too many men piled out of the vans that had surrounded the disabled truck. A part of Leon still thought of running, but he knew better. Sherry would never make it. Even if he took a stand against them, even if he sent her off ahead, she'd never make it out.

Leon was sore, makeshift stitches aching in his shoulder, and there was a cold voice in his head that told him that _even if _he ditched the girl he'd never make it away in time to do any good. So he stood, and let them take them.

He thought it would be better than struggling.

The dark-clothed men tore Sherry away from him, and they were thrown into the vans separately. Before the door was closed, he saw one of the men dragging the contents of the truck out onto the side of the road.

All the tapes Claire had bought so thoughtfully at gas stations to get their minds off the driving… the stash of soda under the seat for when they got too tired to drive… Sherry's granola, which had been the last thing the three of them purchased. The girl hadn't finished the box yet, and Leon figured it was because it was the last thing Claire had bought for her. Aside from the jacket, Sherry seemed to cling to everything about Claire that she could.

In that flash of a moment, he saw them throw it all onto the ground, trashing it. After the back door was shut, a flash of light and a loud noise indicated that the truck had been ignited.

It was painfully efficient of them.

And then the van was moving.

He couldn't, still couldn't, say how long they went, or to where. When they reached the location where the doors were opened again, his optimism sank further from him. Sherry was nowhere. The building looked like nowhere.

He'd seen enough spy movies to know where this was going.

There were no words exchanged, at first. If the man who entered thought he was going to psych out someone who had been through an outbreak, he was obviously more of a rookie than Leon himself was. Eventually, the man spoke, opening a folder and nodding to the man near the door.

"Leon S. Kennedy and Sherry Birkin. I rather expected to find three people in your party."

Staring at the table before him, Leon didn't answer that inquiry. All he knew was that the two of them had brighter futures than this. If Claire lived, she'd surely be on her way to… something, at least. She was going to college, right? And Sherry…

"Leave Sherry out of this," Leon said, looking up at the man who sat across from him. "She's innocent."

A small shake of the man's head that caused light to glint in the surface of his glasses as his head turned, and Leon watched the man from the door return with a disposable cup of coffee. The scent of it overpowered the musty nothing that had filled the room before it came in.

Leon tried not to gag. He'd had his fill of coffee for one lifetime. It was a tool, while they were driving, it was a constant stabbing annoyance in the back of his throat, a bitter reminder that sleep was forbidden, that nightmares could walk if his eyes closed, and that without the support of it, of _something_, their chances of surviving to fight the walking nightmares would be over. So he tried not to gag both from the scent of the over-brewed tar in that cup, and the memory of his own reliance on it.

The man sipped it. "You don't know that, she's the child of _Umbrella_ employees. Researchers." Pressing his lips together, Leon turned to look at the window on the far side of the room. "Innocent or not, she knows too much."

Nervousness that hadn't plagued him even as he set Claire off settled in Leon's stomach. He tried to tell himself it wasn't that they'd been run off the road and thrown into vans. He wasn't having a reaction to the low level stress they'd tried to put both he and Sherry under with their abduction. It was worry.

He'd managed to set Claire free, loose her to her will in the world. Sherry wasn't old enough to do that with. She was…

His eyes lifted to the man across from him.

Trapped.

He and Sherry were trapped.

The cold, empty voice that had suggested abandoning Sherry when the vans had approached offered an answer. Only one of them would be free, after this.

"Of course, we might be able to overlook that fact and place her with a couple that has suitable security clearance."

If. Leon waited for him to say the if.

He already knew what his answer to it was going to be.

* * *

**May 2006**

"You should never let go of the well-being of survivors to chase the bad guy. It's not just about you."

Leon knew he was talking to himself, arguing the point with himself at that point, after the flood of memories that had reminded him _of_ his choice, he felt it. He felt the whole of them, and accepted them as he had before. As he'd taken the contract, unfair as it was, and fulfilled it until they let him stand down to normal duty.

"I guess that's the only answer there is, isn't it?" she asked. Something about her tone sounded resigned to it, almost… bitter. Her expression hovered, and it looked like it was just shy of the one she had given him across the pie plates that nearly forgotten November. "We can't be irresponsible with other people's lives. Especially not-" Claire chuckled, softly, shaking her head, and moved to get up. "I'll go and-"

He felt the same.

"Stay up here with me, just for a little while?" Leon asked softly.

He didn't want her to go. Even to the survivors. Oscar wouldn't do anything too stupid, and the kids were too quiet for their own good. He could monopolize Claire just then, it was his right. It felt like this time he'd gotten a prize for surviving, for doing the right thing, like Claire was some sort of reward for it.

Claire had been halfway to her feet on the ladder, but when he asked she paused on her way down and climbed up and sat in the chair next to the one that was just behind him.

"Preferential treatment?" she asked as she looked over at him, sinking into the chair with a faint trace of a smile on her lips. Whatever memories she was having were probably as strong as the ones coming up to him.

Leon laughed, somehow, despite how he felt, and it didn't sound as bitter as he was starting to believe he was. He sat down, finally, putting his phone back into his pocket, and reached over to take Claire's hand as the boat headed into the ocean and the sun slipped fully beneath the horizon. He needed to feel that she was with him, even if she was bitter or angry. He needed to feel not alone, just the way he needed it when he went home from a mission… only this time, he had the chance to feel what it felt like he'd been missing.

"You might call it that, I definitely prefer you."

"Prefer me to who?"

He smiled, knowing it was drawn not only by the harrowing stress of the past twenty or so hours, but also by the scar on his cheek. He couldn't help but smile, that much that his body and weariness would allow. The joke was just too stupid not to. "Just about everybody."

It was Claire's turn to laugh then. And just the way her guilt used to wash away, the bitter faded. She was just laughing, even though the situation had stressed her. She was smiling, a little. It was the haggard, worn down smile that lingered in place of a real one for weeks, sometimes months after an outbreak survival, but the idea was there. It wasn't the same sweet one she'd given him across the apple pie, but it was there.

"Save me from the cornball lines," she said, shaking her head.

But she threaded her fingers through his. Claire's grip on his hand was as tight as his was on hers. Warm, slender fingers through his held on. It was a blessed relief.

"If you haven't already," Leon said, wondering when she was going to get that his sense of humor when it wasn't jaded, was sort of anemic from all the dark, blood-letting experience he'd had. "You'll get used to them, if you take a little time to," he offered.

He wasn't even sure what he was offering. He normally shelved any thoughts beyond the moment of work, beyond the action required to survive, but…

"I plan to," she said, leaning her head back in the breeze and closing her eyes. The wind played with her hair, pulling it back and yet whipping it around her face as well.

He watched her for a moment, and felt ease soothe its way into his hurts. Like a hot tub of Epsom salt or… ice cream after scraping his knee. The kind of feeling that started the beginning of ok.

That was a good feeling, after so much raw and numb.

A very good one.

* * *

I've been trying to piece together what the hell happened in a few of the gaps while basing it on canon… somehow I was having trouble figuring out at what point after an outbreak situation you ask someone for basic things like phone numbers and email addresses.

That… just wouldn't be a normal thing to think about.

I thought it was fitting that Leon should muse about having a John McClane experience, as the whole Resident Evil series seems based on bad timing on the part of our originally normal heroes and heroines. Talk about wrong place and the wrong time.

Anywho. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Again, sorry for the delay.


	32. 2:23

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Again, thanks to everyone for reading and for reviewing. I've been hip-deep in Darkside Chronicles lately. Yet another attempt at shoring up the Capcom plot holes.

The more I write, the more of this there seems to be _to_ write, and the story's taking some turns I hadn't expected. Mostly because, let's face it, a lot has happened to them before this story even started. More note at the end.

* * *

**May 2006**

Leon stopped the yacht some time after that. She must have been dozing because she only noticed when the wind stopped rushing in her face. When she turned to look at him, she found him holding his cell phone and staring behind them. Staring into the darkness that the absence of the sun had surrounded the boat in.

Turning as well, she couldn't see the island. Night had settled in fully while she'd been sleeping beside him.

They weren't going back. Whatever was there to be found, whatever answers were hidden in that facility that TriCell left behind… now wasn't the time for them to learn. There were other, more important things to deal with.

"Now we _should_ check on them," Leon said.

Something had changed in his voice. Claire wasn't too surprised. She wagered that if she spoke, just then, her voice would be similarly transformed. Claire knew where her highest priority was, but despite that... there was more. If thoughts could have taste, her knowledge of her own priorities, at that moment, was not anything she wanted to accept. The knowledge, the truth that her own _self_ left an aftertaste that was too bitter to admit, even if she had no choice other than to acknowledge it.

It was the same aftertaste from Harvardville, handing that gun back.

A younger, saucier version of herself was sneering at her from the other side of that memory. The impulsive, leather-wearing version of herself that she only let out now when she had to. The fighter that Chris tried to smother in her, even though he'd been the one to instill it into her. The fighter had caught that gun mid-spin after the kick and done what she had to, the fighter was the one that struggled to keep on breathing.

That part of her spat every time the aftertaste burned the back of her throat. That part of her was also the part that wanted, the night on the bed when the door interrupted them, to follow Leon into the bathroom. That part of her saw no problem with pushing him against the tile, even if he was preoccupied, and giving him something _better_ to think about.

Frowning, Claire nodded at him.

She didn't want to be close to Leon, feeling like that. She didn't want to stand beside someone who could fight and…

The ladder passed away and she was down on the deck and opening the door to the cabin before she'd realized she was moving. The bitter taste of her own thoughts was like bile threatening to spill whatever was in her empty stomach onto the deck. She moved quickly. If Leon was following her, she didn't hear him. Whether that was because she didn't want to or because he really _wasn't_, she didn't know.

Curled up on the couch, the children were asleep. Oscar was staring at the walls. She remembered the reaction, she'd seen it before on the faces of survivors that she'd counseled. The people in San Francisco, the families of the victims in India. It was one that she had not been allowed to have after Raccoon City. The whole of her shock had been stored up until after Rockfort and Antarctica.

* * *

**January 1999**

Chris couldn't stay with her, of course. No one could stay with her, and the feeling of loneliness didn't help the shock of the past months. How long had it been, sleeping with a gun under her pillow or a knife in her hand? How long? Since September, at least.

No, that wasn't fair.

She hadn't _been_ sleeping.

After getting her back to her apartment, Chris had stayed long enough to be sure she wasn't _seriously_ injured. Beyond the cuts and bruises, that is. He had to ignore the distant, empty look in her eyes, she saw him forcing his jaw and setting his lips. He did that sort of thing when he was doing something that he wasn't happy about, the sort of thing that was like taking bad medicine.

Other people might have found it… cold, but Claire knew it for what it was. Chris had no options in regards to her. Chris was a marked man, she was sure of it now. Umbrella had marked him, tagged him for destruction, and he was doing the best thing he could with that given truth. He was fighting them with everything he had in him.

An empty voice from somewhere inside asked if she was next. She'd missed the first part of the semester was over by the time she'd gotten back, and she'd missed the end of the last one. 'Just gone for a day or two' had turned into months that she wouldn't see again.

That wasn't entirely true. She saw those months every time she closed her eyes. She lived those hours, felt that fear, every time she heard a noise that was unfamiliar in her apartment, or whenever someone followed her when she headed down the sidewalk. She lived what she'd been through, sweated with fear, and gripped the handle of whichever weapon was closest her like it was a hand with a pulse that could soothe her with its steady rhythm.

It didn't help that once Chris had gone, once the bruises to her torso had begun to fade and all the swelling had gone down it became obvious that she'd done something terrible to one of her ankles or knees. Rehab didn't make her feel any better, no matter how many times Leon or her good friend Alyssa tried to tell her it was physical therapy.

Because everything was underwater. All the shock she'd been bottling, all the stress she'd shrugged off, been able to ignore because of purpose was back, and pushing it aside had only given it time to grow. Claire knew she was a strong person, she didn't wonder about that. She didn't crack under pressure, she cracked _after_ it.

And when she did, the tears came. It took weeks before it happened, weeks of staring at the walls, her eyes lingering on the cracks in the paint that she'd marked down on her move-in checklist. When they came, they were hard. Claire wasn't even ashamed or embarrassed of them.

She was too empty to feel those things.

Her mind, dejected, turned frantic. The underwater feeling of everything got worse, and she struggled against it. Struggled to tell herself that she was alive. Struggled with the fact that no, she _hadn't_ died. Other people had, but not everyone.

St-

_Not_ everyone. Leon had lived. Chris had lived. Sherry lived.

Desperate, she let her mind latch onto the ones she'd saved, and not the one who'd died to save her. She couldn't talk to Leon, she didn't dare reach Chris so soon. Her mind supplied for her all the things she had to think about right alongside the ones she didn't want to.

She ate microwave food to keep things from smelling alive in her apartment, because if it smelled alive it would end up smelling dead. She avoided things like the produce section, fresh markets, and sometimes even restaurants. At night, if she'd gone out, she went home, ate the tasteless cardboard food, and cried her way through it.

It was a hard struggle, but in February she managed to calm down enough that she could call Leon. He sounded tired, but other than that, he sounded well. Sherry, he promised her, was as safe as they were. As safe as she could be made by either of them.

He didn't know any more. There was silence on the line, silence between them, and then he asked how she was.

All Claire could do was cry.

The shock had been bottled so long, the stress, that she couldn't do anything but cry. Leon let her, and though the line was silent while he did, his silence was infinitely better than the empty echo of her own tears in her empty apartment. Still, he listened. He accepted. She cried. For a long time, at least until March when she finally finished the rehab for whatever was wrong with her ankle or her knee, she did just that.

* * *

**May 2006**

A part of Claire hated the three, near catatonic survivors for it. They didn't have to wait, to store up more hurt and illogic. She would never know if the crying would've happened the way it did if she hadn't waited so long to do it. She couldn't know if that was her normal reaction to it. If that was just the way that she was about that sort of thing.

No, it couldn't be. Harvardville certainly hadn't dissolved her into tears. And the difference there was… what? That she wasn't worse off with wondering in the following months? That she _knew_ that Chris was fine, that Leon was alright, that Raani was safe with her family?

Leon didn't seem to react the same way, in either instance. In any instance. He didn't talk about it. He seemed, her bitter mind supplied, _perfectly fine_.

She wondered if that _was_ how Leon had gotten about that sort of thing. She couldn't tell if he just wrote it off as another day on the job, or if it was something that he stayed up nights over. Her bitter, self-hate told her that he _was_ fine and that she was the one with the problem.

Claire was numb as she moved to the grocery bags, gathering food to give them all before she went over to rouse the children. Leon didn't join her at first, and that was _fine_.

An annoyed, angry part of her was asking if this was it. If this was all there was to an outbreak, if this was all she could do.

No, it wasn't all she _could_ do, it was all she was _allowed_ to do. All she was allowing herself, and all Leon was allowing them to do. She tried very hard not to be bitter about that. She was still kneeling in front of the children. Nicholai wasn't looking at her, but Emily reached out and touched her arm.

That brought Claire back to the present, for a moment. "Claire," Emily said softly.

The childish voice, she had to remind herself, was not Sherry's. It wasn't Raani's. She had to let Emily be a different child instead of just another one of the children affected like this. It wasn't healthy of her to start thinking of all the children that went through this sort of trauma as the same.

Hell, she warned the other counselors not to do it. That had been a large argument in all the staff meetings in San Francisco. Why couldn't the counseling be more standardized? What good was it doing to put kit gloves on with these children?

Then, Claire had been very vocal about the importance of individual attention. Then, she had warned them against ignoring any of the symptoms of shock and grief that might be varying from child to child. It was important, Claire knew – she'd decided it when she'd taken the position – not to let there _be_ a standard survivor child.

Or a "standard survivor".

That was the professional Claire in action. That was her passion focused, refined into fuel about this sort of situation. About the tragedy and the hurt. That was the part of her that put the gun away and took a briefcase to the office every morning, the part of her that only took her motorcycle out on weekends and was courteous of her neighbors.

Professional Claire was the flesh that had grown on the skin and bones of Survivor Claire, but underneath the exterior, when she was cut to the quick, the survivor was the one who bled. Kindness was never lacking, both the professional with her briefcase and the survivor with her HP and her motorcycle had that.

But the survivor, over the years, had picked up an angry, resentful temper to go with it. It didn't flare up often, but when it did-

"Claire, are you ok? You're pale?" Emily's voice sounded scared.

Looking down at the girl, Claire smiled. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"She just needs a snack." Over the course of her contemplation, Leon must have joined them in the cabin of the ship, because his voice was just over her shoulder.

Turning, Claire looked up at him, and found that he was rummaging through the groceries they'd gotten. He seemed to be contemplating something, so she let him. She moved over to check on Oscar, carrying a candy bar with her.

The fat man snatched it from her hand and shooed her away wordlessly. Claire left him alone, left him to the luxury of his withdrawal into shock, and glanced at the children.

Emily was sitting up, but Nicholai had gone right back to sleep. Claire knew she needed to talk to them, that _someone_ needed to talk to them, but her own bitter resentment of the situation… No, she would be honest with herself at least. Her own resentment of their presence was too strong. She hated herself for that, a little, even as she admitted it.

The cabin was too close, _they_ were too close. Claire turned for the deck, making sure to close the door behind her.

She leaned against the ladder, looking out into the darkness that had spread across the water while she slept. In that instant it felt like the whole world was made of darkness. How could she resent other survivors? How _dare_ she begrudge them their lives like that?

She felt sick to her stomach.

The door opened, quietly, and Leon stepped out. It had to be Leon. The others wouldn't be collected enough to make a move, yet.

He didn't say anything, just extended a candy bar into her vision.

"Leon…"

"You'll feel better if you eat."

* * *

The more I write about Claire, the more I get curious about the way she pulled through all of this. Someone at some point in a review pointed out that this Claire is feisty. I guess I agree, but there's a reason for it. She's got bravado down pat, and I realize she's also a nice person, but one has to remember that with the nice (shall we say 'sweetness and cherry pie'??) there is also the motorcycle and the handgun. Also, early Claire - RE2, CVX - is motivated by loneliness and worry.

I hope the flashbacks in the last couple chapters have been filling in some of what happened to this Claire in the break where we aren't given any Capcom/Game-related information on her.


	33. 2:24

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: Ah the things that life gives you that are unexpected. Apologies for the break in posting. I really do try to write ahead and make sure I can post fairly consistently, but... sometimes things just sort of come up. Also, this particular chapter would not cooperate when it came to timing. Two things started me writing this story - the Degeneration movie and a fan MV. It was another fan MV that saved this chapter from its doom. If only would let me link youtube videos, I'd post it for you all to check out here. Since it won't, I'll do it this way. User: "varisanubi" made a vid of the song "Karaoke Soul". That saved this chapter. The original MV that helped spurn this was by user: "ValTanner" and was titled "Claire's Hero, Leon's Heroine". I do, ftr, have a slew of MVs that pick me up when the writing's down.

All I could find out about Degeneration was that it was set in 2005, so I picked August. Also, if you're curious, I think Harvardville is in Utah. Having been to Utah in August, I believe this location. Thoughts?

**

* * *

May 2006**

Leon felt better that she ate something, but even the food didn't change that Claire wasn't talking. Leon didn't like the idea of it, but he didn't feel like talking either.

He retreated to the pilot's deck to avoid the silence of their mutual not-talking.

They were going to be rescued.

Extracted.

Sometimes, this was the worst part of his job, the worst part of what he'd sold himself into for Sherry's sake. This was the part that he usually ignored by making a really bad joke or by pushing onwards. Somehow the end was always a bitter, unsatisfying thing that he had to swallow. Usually it wasn't this bad. When he had an appropriate mission instead of being presented with a mystery in the course of daily life. When it _was_ work and not _supposed to be normal_… it wasn't bitter like _this_. Most times, when he'd managed to stop something from happening… it was almost ok.

But there just wasn't anything gained from this.

No. That was the cold voice speaking, the part that didn't care about anything beyond survival the way most of him did.

Or was it?

Leon's knees felt weak. They didn't shake, but he sat down anyway. The surface of the water hadn't moved since the boat had stopped, and so he was fairly sure there was nothing lurking to try and swallow any of them whole. His body reminded him, rather forcefully, that he was tired. His muscles were sore from tension – he always tensed even though he knew better – and from the strain and the wounds he was still healing from _before_ his vacation.

Maybe the cold voice was right. Surviving wasn't gaining anything back. It shouldn't be. Living through another day… shouldn't be like this.

The raw feeling came back, strong like the nausea that came after a stab wound. Leon took out his phone. When he touched it, the GPS screen activated. Hunnigan's coordinates were marked with a flashing dot.

Starting the engines again, he found the headlights and turned the yacht in the direction of the glowing dot. Leaning back, he let his brain drift while his eyes stayed trained on the water ahead of the ship, just in case of anything … lurking.

* * *

It felt like it wasn't long, but the light from his phone flashed differently. It must have been at least an hour since his zoned gaze had turned to dozing.

The GPS coordinates weren't far off. Leon stopped the engines and let the boat drift for a short time. It was better than approaching the shore, given the givens. It was included in the texted instructions, afterall, and Hunnigan was pretty good at getting protocol correct. The Australian… what, Navy? Coast Guard? Did Australia have that? Something would come out to check on the boat that was drifting off shore from them.

As the boat slowed he heard the first, faint noises that he knew were helicopters on their way. There wasn't even any point in starting the engines again. The radio crackled from the dash beneath the steering area, and the instruments began to attune to the frequency. It had been silent until that point, no other radio traffic coming in range of their boat, or just too quiet to take note of.

Despite the occasional break in the quiet, Leon heard the door of the cabin open over the radio chirping.

Turning towards the lower deck, Leon wasn't too surprised to see that Claire had come out from the interior. The children were absent, as was Oscar. There wasn't a lot of light, but the outline was definitely Claire's. He'd known it in the dim halls of the airport easily. In Harvardville, she'd been instantly familiar to him. He hadn't wanted, then, to admit how easily he'd known it was her.

The radio static burst came again, this time there were words cut off in the noise. Leon did his best to ignore, but the cold part of him was paying attention to it. "…SAA, ETA… …lock and…"

"Leon," Claire called up. He could hear the wariness in her tone.

He made his way down the ladder, figuring that the approaching helicopters would drown out his voice before long. As he landed at the bottom, jumping the last few rungs, Claire was there to meet him.

"What's going on?" she asked.

She looked as tired as he felt. Her eyes were watery, a bit. He wondered if it was the post-stress relief or the anguish of setting aside… "The BSAA are headed for the island."

"Why'd you stop the boat?"

The radio static squawked again, and the noise of the helicopters grew louder. Overhead four helicopters sped past. Leon turned his eyes to them for a moment, trying to pick them out. Two looked to be MI-24s, two appeared to be AH64-As. That would be the BSAA and their compatriot contingents, the cold part of his mind supplied. Leon nodded a little, the cold part of him satisfied, and refocused all of his attention on Claire.

As the loudest of the noise faded, he started to offer her an answer, but the noise level dipped for a moment before growing steadily louder. Again.

Leon tried to ignore it. He tried to focus on Claire, to give her a reassuring look or to muster a smile, but it was a futile attempt, and he knew it. The cold part of him was already swiveling, turning to look up at the helicopter.

"Attention in the yacht," a crackling command came from the helicopter that was, now, circling them slowly. "Your craft is entering from an area of quarantine. Prepare to be boarded."

The beam of the helicopter blew out the colors on either of them. Leon knew from experience that a person could not be deemed infected or clean from that vantage point. He glanced at Claire, and she made a reluctant noise. Both of them slowly lifted their hands in acquiescence to the squawked command of the pilot.

Leon thought he could even hear the first splashes and the motor noise of whatever boat was coming to collect them, but it was probably just his imagination. With the helicopter so close, he could barely hear himself as he shouted to Claire, "We're going straight to a hospital of some sort, you realize?"

Whatever response she had was lost to the noise of the helicopter circling overhead. And then it didn't matter that he couldn't hear the ship approaching them, because he could see the headlights of it coming towards them. The light cut across their washed out bodies and tried to blind them. This part he hated. Being treated like a prisoner – eyes blinded by lights, held in suspicion of infection. He knew it wasn't Claire's favorite thing either, but unlike in Harvardville, he had no clout to get them treated better.

As the chopper overhead circled, Claire took a step closer to him. It kept the wind down some. Leon had to keep himself from putting his arm around her shoulders. He wished there was something he could do about this part, but even the cold voice was silent about that.

Both of them were fresh out of an outbreak, and they looked it. They'd be treated like anyone else who wandered out of somewhere unsafe, but what was inevitable wasn't palatable. He wondered, or rather the cold voice in the back of his head wondered, if this particular quarantine would be better or worse than the one he'd had to go through after coming back from Spain.

"Announce the number of your group to the first responder captain of the ship that is approaching," crackled the electronic voice from overhead.

"Looks like the cavalry," Claire said, close enough that her raised voice could be heard over the beat of the helicopter. She motioned with her head to the group of men gathered on the edge of the ship that approached them.

"Hn."

He couldn't figure whether the quarantine would be worse overall. _He_ wasn't the post-infection victim he had been then, but Claire had a fresh wound. It would be… bittersweet, he figured. He tried to tell himself that anyway.

* * *

**August 2005**

As they came out of the airport, there was a field of light to blind them. After their eyes adjusted, gas-masked marines with guns stood waiting. Their weapons were raised, trained on the group of them as they came out.

Leon stopped first, Claire behind him, one arm protectively around Rani. The attendant and the senator's aide were between them and Angela, who kept looking over her shoulder towards the terminal they'd just left behind.

One of the marines came forward, then three, all in a group. Their guns didn't waver as they did so, until it was obvious that the people that the group of them were not zombies. They might be infected, but at the least they were not an immediate threat.

He knew the standing orders on survivors in a situation like this. Those that were infected but not turned were herded into a separate group, but not terminated immediately, in case by some off chance they were could be saved.

The cold voice knew that what that really meant was one of two things. Either the infected survivor was immune, and in which case they were liable to end up as a blood donor for further experiments towards a more consistent cure for the T-virus, or they were in for study towards the spread of the infection. The T-virus, from reports that he'd read, had a consistent spread in the body, but if the victim didn't expire from the contraction of the virus (as was often the case, zombies tended towards major arteries when they attacked) then the time from infection to death and death to zombie return was varied.

As a line of marines entered the terminal behind them, another motioned them forward.

Claire followed Rani to the fence and Leon watched, disturbed by the scene. He'd never had anyone to run to in a situation like that. There was no one to fuss over him, at the end of the day.

And then a lab coat wearing someone walked over with an escort of armed marines. A throat cleared behind him, and Leon turned to the man in question.

"Agent Kennedy," the man said.

Leon frowned, but nodded.

"Were any of your party bitten?"

"No."

"This way."

In processing. Leon hated it. As much as he could for being so familiar with it.

* * *

**May 2006**

The bright lights turned into people, and as a rope was tossed across to the low railing, Leon bent to secure the line. The rope was followed by several HazMat suited people – it was impossible to tell if they were men or women – descending to the rear deck of the yacht. They were watched over carefully by several similarly costumed people wielding guns from the upper deck of the ship.

Leon reasoned it was the Coast Guard. Micronesia was officially off his list of future vacation destinations. At least, the cold voice consoled him, there were markings on the bio-safety suits that the people approaching them had on. Markings that he could recognize and reproduce. Claire shuffled a little behind him as they approached, and from the way she moved, he knew she was tense. What was she expecting?

"State the number in your party," one of the muffled, nasal voices from the two suited men said.

"Five," Leon replied.

"Was anyone injured?"

"Yes," he admitted with a frown. Claire stepped up a little, expression grim.

"Bitten?" the muffled voice asked.

"No," he said. He glanced over at Claire. One of the suited people seemed to be looking her over curiously.

In the distance there was a cracking noise. He and Claire turned towards the noise, but it was too far away to see any direct result other than a brightening in the dark sky.


	34. 2:25

**RE: Inclination**

A/N: I've gotten everyone's encouragement and reviews, and I appreciate them all. In light of that, here is the end of Chapter 2, officially. It was a slightly longer piece and then I split it in two for the sake of where chapter 2 really ends. Ta-da.

* * *

The hours of processing seemed like days. Oscar split off from them almost as soon as they got ushered into the tents that had been set up to deal with the outbreak survivors and any affected workers from the site. Emily and Nicholai huddled together at her sides, and Claire did her best not to wish they were Sherry. In-processing was the same as it always was. General weight taking, blood work, a physical examination. At the very least Leon was helpful. He went through all of it first, setting the example.

Nicholai stepped up next, as if to show Emily that he wasn't scared.

The little girl didn't want to see it, though. She clutched Claire like a parent-sized teddy bear and hid her face. Claire decided to wait until she was safely through everything before getting hers. She'd go last.

The doctors made nervous noises at that, but there was nothing to be done with the little girl clutching her side so tightly. And then Emily went just as easily to take her tests, 'like a good girl' was what Claire had told her.

It felt, as Claire sat waiting, like the children's physical testing took less time than hers did. Leon's had seemed to get done in a flash. After the children were finished with the physical assessment, they were ushered off to get fresh clothes and something to eat.

That seemed like ages ago, and it had been before she'd had to do the whole stand up sit down routine that they needed her to do in order to get her beats and numbers down. The technicians were jabbing her with another needle of something. Leon hadn't been offered the same 'fresh clothes and a meal' treat. He was still standing in the tent across from her like a watchdog.

As the adrenaline wore off, the wound in Claire's side began to ache. Hopefully on the other side of this there would be something to take that away. The doctors had poked and prodded her from the inside their hazmat suits, and they were waiting on bloodwork results before addressing the wound in her side. She was the only one with any physical injuries, and they were being cautious with her.

Seated on a sterile, temporary cot, Claire stared at the back of Leon's head. Having finished his in-processing, he was standing on the far side of the last test, arms folded on his chest, staring down the medical technicians as they worked on Claire's samples. Staring silently.

This, Claire figured, was why nothing ever really happened between them. Government-issued lock-jaw.

They always came close to something. Either saying something or… well the other night in the hotel was a prime example. They were always interrupted, or had work to do. Where would they be if room service hadn't gotten the wrong room? If the island hadn't been infected?

With an inward sigh, Claire figured they were just wrong. Anytime they were together, zombies showed up.

A carefully suited nurse came back, offering a smile through the face shield. "Agent Kennedy, your test results came back clean, if you'll follow me-"

"No."

"-we can get you some… what?"

Claire blinked, still staring at the back of Leon's head. She was almost waiting for it to open up and show something sinister lurking. But all she saw was the sandy brown hair trimmed neatly against his neck, his almost-tan skin disappearing into the hospital gown they had been forced to change into, and the muscles he normally hid beneath his clothes peeking out between the ties at the back of his neck.

"I said no," Leon replied, staring the nurse down. He didn't turn towards Claire. "I'll go take clean clothing when Claire's results are back."

That, Claire thought, was new. Of course, he hadn't been nearly as close to being her boyfriend before in this sort of situation, but he'd never stayed when she had to linger behind before. Of course in Harvardville he'd been working… It was a bad thought, but Claire wasn't sure if her immediate reaction to that would be the same, if the situation was reversed.

Neither of them had fussed when first Oscar and then the children were ushered out to get new clothing, but Leon sounded like he was putting his foot down about this.

"Agent Kennedy…"

"I'm not going without her," he said firmly, folding his arms on his chest.

The nurse cast Claire a nervous look, and then nodded.

Leon looked tense, like he wanted to snap at the woman as she headed out, but he didn't. He shook his head and glanced at Claire before stretching out on the one of the other thin little cots. "They need a card."

"A what?" Claire asked, watching him spread out, one knee hanging off the cot that wasn't really big enough for him anyway.

"They should make them. Survivor cards. One that tells them what's normal for your blood work," he said, staring up at the tent overhead. "The same thing happened in Harvardville."

Claire blinked, watching him for a moment. He was staying. "Are you worried they are going to lock me in an air-tight box for being immune? Because if that's why you're staying…"

"I'm staying," he said, eyes closing, "because we came together."

"We did," Claire agreed. She waited for what that actually meant, but Leon didn't seem to have anything to add. "About… that," she said, hoping he would ask something, but when he didn't she pushed ahead anyway. "Is this a date?"

He tipped his head in her direction, eyes opening to give her an annoyed look.

"Ok, wrong question."

Leon shook his head, looking back up at the tent. Claire wondered if he was thinking, and tried to stay silent so he could, but that wasn't really an answer, was it? He let his eyes close, and she watched him, curious about this. He wasn't leaving, but he wasn't really paying attention to her.

* * *

It seemed like months before they were released from strict quarantine, but it was only two days. It was that long to determine that they had only been exposed to the T-virus from the infected and didn't carry the infection themselves. Nicholai and Emily were separated from them. Leon and Claire both had anomalies in their bloodwork from previous outbreaks that had to be verified. Leon's he had paperwork for, but just like Leon had mentioned, Claire had no way to prove the results of her labwork were normal for her. Her whole body felt stiff, actually, and sore like she had some kind of a fever.

Claire couldn't even count the number of things she'd been inoculated with, her arm was sore, and they'd taken to alternating the injection spots for it. Leon was the same, but he seemed more used to that part. He didn't complain, he didn't even mention what was going on, except to sigh in relief when their blood work seemed to come back cleaner after each set of injections.

Once it was obvious they wouldn't keel over and start vomiting up their own intestines, they were allowed to walk around the small island where the makeshift cleanup facility had been set up. Claire was sick of islands, but thankfully this one was rocky at the shore instead of sandy like Milena had been. They walked together. Leon spent a good deal of time on the phone, either receiving information or relaying it. At one point he told her that Nicholai and Emily had been picked up by relatives. That was good, Claire thought, they'd need family around.

Leon's phone seemed like a third person that spent time with them. Claire was ok with that, it gave him something to do with his hands. She didn't know what she'd do if he tried to sling his arm around her shoulders and comfort her. She wasn't upset, she wasn't freaking out, she was pissed off at having lost another vacation to an outbreak.

Besides, it was refreshing being with someone who trusted her. Leon didn't turn to check on her when he stepped away, he didn't make sure to wave at her from wherever he'd stepped over to when he did it. Chris did that sort of thing sometimes, worried that she might get worried when he stepped away. It was reasonable, but annoying. Leon just motioned to his phone, glanced once around them as though looking for anything dangerous, and headed a reasonable distance away to answer his call.

Once, when he'd done it, one of the orderlies ended up going a bit haywire in one of the electric trucks used to transport supplies. In an instant, it seemed, before Claire could get her stiff muscles to move, Leon scooped her out of the way.

That was a strangely reassuring reminder of his presence. Leon had both arms around her and was holding her tight to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat as it raced… adrenaline, no doubt. She looked up the few inches into his face and heard him mutter, "If it's not the damn zombies…"

Once the cart had 'safely' plowed into some of the standing water barrels, Leon looked at Claire. "I'm fine," she'd said to assure him. "Thanks." He had looked more than a little awkward at that, so she just leaned up to kiss his cheek before repeating her quick 'thank you' and shooing him back to his phone.

In her heart Claire was already preparing to be separated from him, to go back to the push and pull stress of the office and… her empty apartment. She didn't spend enough time in the city to keep a pet, and all her plants ended up dying slow and likely painful photosynthetic deaths.

Leon didn't mention a word about them separating. It felt almost like he _purposefully_ didn't. They talked about other things, about work, about what food would be best once they were off hospital rations, whether or not to cancel gym memberships and… a million useless things. Despite her bravado in asking if the vacation was a date, even in the private tent she knew that she wasn't feeling quite up to properly ridding Leon of what she considered his prudish shyness.

It was funny, really. He was so insistent about some things, like when he'd stared down the nurse and told her no he wasn't going to leave, and the way that he shoved their cots close enough together that even though it wasn't physically possible for them to sleep together, he could hold her hand. And more often than not, she woke up finding he'd angled them so he could get his arms around her. It was a precarious position, diagonal across two not-very-sturdy cots, but Claire appreciated that he held her like that.

She wanted more, but Claire reasoned to herself that it was probably a better thing for her that she didn't get it. She was already attached enough to the secret agent without needing him to hold her and wanting to hurl him into bed every minute. It would be better, she thought, if it was ok to be apart from him, though she knew she would never get rid of the memory of the warmth of his arms at night.

The flight attendant once again mistook them for a married couple on their trip back to New Jersey. It wasn't out of the question, given that they were tanned and returning from Sydney in first class. Of course they also might look like escaped mental patients in the generic sterile clothes they'd been given by the emergency personnel on the island. Either way, the mistake was an amusing one. Leon took the opportunity of the long flight to put the armrest up and wind his arm around her shoulders before settling into a light sleep.

Claire was bemused by the flight attendant's "helpful" questioning. "Would your husband be more comfortable with a pillow, ma'am?"

"He's comfortable the way he is, I'm sure. He sleeps like a bear sometimes," Claire said.

"What about you, ma'am?" The flight attendant looked very courteous, but curious. "If it'll be more comfortable for you, we could find a pillow for him."

"I'm used to it," Claire said. The flight attendant smiled and nodded, and only disturbed them for meal times. At the airport, in their slightly less fresh survivor's clothes, they started for Leon's car, and then stopped. "Keys?" Claire asked him.

"Hotel," Leon replied, shaking his head. "Think you can pick the lock?"

"Think you can hot wire the thing?" Claire replied, grinning.

"How do we get into your apartment? Did you…?"

It was a triumphant Claire who fished the long forgotten nylon bag from her heather gray hoodie. She shook it at him. "Everything essential for a girl on the go," she said.

"Well, you officially win when it comes to the supply department."

"You're the one who thought to pack ahead on the artillery," Claire shook her head. "Lead on to the car," she motioned with a hand.

Leon held out an arm, and Claire smiled at the casualness of his gesture before stepping into it. It was a bit slower between them than she had anticipated… but… it was good. Leon was more complicated about that, she wagered, than she was. Or at least he said he was. She had to doubt that given the opportunity he would do his other good qualities adequate justice.

Well, she reflected, given the opportunity without an outbreak on its heels. Leon had proven he could be pleasing in that way, or at least he showed great promise. He led her to the car, and she pursed her lips a little as she looked at the door.

"All boasting aside, why was I thinking you'd gotten me in the truck?" Claire said. "I don't know if I can pick your laser-key car door…"

"I probably can't hotwire it either," he admitted. "I got the BMW because it's hot-wire proof. Does your essential kit include cash for a cab? I'll pay you back later."

"It just might," Claire said, letting him turn them back to the airport terminal to go for a cab at the lower level. "But isn't it a bit problematic for 007 to loose his ID and keys?"

"I told you," Leon said, "I'm not 007. I _feel_ more like 86 right now."

Claire chuckled at that, and glanced at the elevator that would take them down. She tensed just at the sight of the stupid thing, like the doors were going to open and something undead was going to lurch out of it. Leon shared the direction of her look and turned them for the escalator instead. Claire's fingers tightened in the back of his heather gray sweatshirt and she put her cheek against his shoulder as the stairs rolled them smoothly down to the baggage claim area.

It was almost like she blacked out when he guided her away from the elevator. She couldn't remember getting into the cab, but she remembered Leon pulling her close and kissing her hair. Normally these things didn't get to her like this… what was different? What was…

_Normally_ no one let her be anxious. Normally there wasn't time, or anyone to connect with about it.

"I take it your essential pouch doesn't include a cell phone?" Leon asked, tipping his head against hers.

"I need different things than a gun and a PDA," Claire said, relaxing against him. Leon shifted in an obvious attempt to keep from putting his arm directly across her breasts as she moved. "You know it's weird you have less a problem touching me when you're asleep."

"Call it modesty?" he asked awkwardly.

Claire tipped her head. "Leon, modesty? After Melina, I'd think there was nothing for _me_ to be modest about with you at least."

"Ok, well… maybe… it's less about having things left and more about being respectful," Leon said. He relaxed enough to hold her properly, though. "It's different, with you."

She sat up enough to turn her head towards him so she could respond properly, but the cab slowed. That was strange, this was near enough her building, but… "Why are we slowing down?"

"Roadblock," the cabby said, shrugging.

"Let us out over there, would you?"

"Claire?" Leon asked as she pulled from his arm.

"… there's _never_ any traffic on this street," Claire commented.

The cab pulled over and the two of them climbed out. Leon followed Claire as she led the way towards her apartment building. They only made it around the corner before they saw the obstruction. Claire jogged the two blocks to the roadblock. The police barricade…

"What's going on here?" Claire demanded of one of the officers.

"Stay behind the line, ma'am, the area isn't safe."

It took a moment for Leon to catch up to her. Claire was about to demand more information from the cop when his hand touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him, and he pointed.

Of all the things she expected to come home to, a flaming apartment building was not one of them. New Jersey wasn't exactly high on the list of places in the world one would expect a terrorist attack, which was exactly why Claire lived there. Sure, she knew how bio-terrorism seemed to strike in the least likely places, but that was why the small Newark suburb seemed so ideal. It was close enough to one of the TerraSave offices in New York that it was a quick hop on the train, it wasn't remote enough to be at risk of having a secret lab stationed nearby…

But apparently she'd overlooked the obviousness of picking a seemingly innocuous location for her home base.

And now her building was on fire.

"Damnit!" Claire swore.

Leon's hand closed on her shoulder.

"_God_ damnit!" she cursed again, jerking out of his grip and turning back the way they came. Behind them there was an explosion, and Leon stepped over to push her a little farther away. "I'm _not going to get hit by glass from the explosion!_" she snapped at him.

Leon let her go. She stomped off, leaving the apartment at her back. Now was a good time to go. The cheap sneakers that had come with her packet of 'cold clothes' didn't make the satisfying scrunch on the sidewalk that her boots would have in that situation, but she put up with it by jamming her heel down and slapping the length of her foot against the stone on the walk. Why did this sort of thing have to sucker punch her at the end of a very bad… what was it? Month? Month! Well, fuck it. There were better things to do than worry about this. There were other places…

She was halfway down the block before she realized she didn't really have anywhere else to go at the moment.

"I can get us a flight to DC if you don't mind staying at my place," a soft voice said to her.

Claire was startled at finding him only a few feet behind her. "You're quiet," she ground out. She wasn't angry with Leon, not really. He hadn't actually _done_ anything to anger her… but it was so abrupt. She was preparing to be alone in those rooms and… "And you don't have any ID, how are you getting on another plane?"

"This is why I keep my cell phone." Leon took a step closer to her. He didn't touch her, thankfully, as in that moment the last thing she wanted was anything on her, but he did meet her eyes. "Do you want to stay with me, or…"

"Don't you dare get all emo about-"

"… we could call your brother, or I can get you a hotel," Leon finished. His brow twitched.

Claire cut her sentence off, and looked at the sidewalk. She was being really unfair to him just then, really mean and vicious. "I…"

He stepped past her. She saw him as he did it. "Don't apologize yet, I'm pretty sure you're not done being angry."

Blinking, she looked up and glared at him. "What do you mean by that?" she snapped.

"Keeping you includes the storms," Leon said. "Come on."

Something she said must have flared up his temper. She'd seen a flicker of it on Milena with her wound, but… Ugh. Shaking her head, Claire followed Leon down the street. At this point, anywhere would be better than nothing, and it was nice not to have to worry about it all on her own.


End file.
